RED Friday
by Trinity Is God
Summary: He wished he could go back when he was known as Seth Cohen, Caleb Nichol's grandson, Kirsten Cohen's son. Not Seth Cohen, son of murdered Sandy Cohen. [ FIVE Shots ]
1. R

I was pissed off to all hell when I wrote this. There will be a second part. So technically it's a ONE-shot, but it's so big I had to post it in two. It's just something to hold you over til' the other ones. So Review this one, especially all you lurkers out there. Yeah you! You need to hit that Review button cause guess what I'm not writing this for myself, okay? It's not gonna hurt you.

Any errors are mine. So Forgive a little.

_It's funny. Your worst nightmare always seems so far away. Then, all of a sudden, there it is, like a monstrous tidal wave. You try to escape, but you can't. You struggle and you struggle and you struggle, your desperate cries unheard. Then, something strange happens, you stop struggling. Your cries take flight. You forget you're drowning._

_-Dark Harbor. _

_-_

_-_

_-_

_-_

'_Time.'_

It often feels like forever.

Then somehow it always turns out that there is never enough time.

Time has an irritable way of just suddenly stopping. Then we manage to conjure sentences like "Time is of the essence," or "I don't have all day!"

You can make room for time, but it doesn't always make room for you.

To Kirsten, it feels like time has stopped on one particular day, with one particular hour with that stupid one particular minute and one dumb second. She knows the exact time in which her world came to a screeching halt.

5:42pm with 22 seconds. Friday.

It simply feels like forever.

Her recollection of the event is vague. Maybe a foggy haze would be the best way to describe it.

She remembers she was running late at work and that she was supposed to leave at 3, but it was pushing 5:30, she just couldn't seem to get out of the office.

She remembers the phone ringing.

She remembers answering it like she always does.

She remembers that she had a smile on her face and laughter in her voice. It was Friday and she had all the reasons in the world to be happy.

Then time simply stopped.

And she hasn't smiled since.

The simple words of "I'm so sorry," haunt her continuously. She thinks they may haunt her forever. In fact she's almost positive of it.

Five forty two, p.m.

She thinks that the secretary had come in to bid her goodnight but she must have seen the look on her face, or maybe she said something to her, for some reason she thinks she did. She thinks she said the words, "I don't know what to do, I'm sorry." But she doesn't really remember if that's what she said or not. It's all a blur to her.

At 5:54 p.m., her father rushes into the room and looks at her, worry is upon his face and he doesn't understand why she is like this. He doesn't understand that she is in shock.

She thinks he called her name, but she doesn't really know for sure.

"Kiki? Kirsten? Cathy, call Sandy…" Despite the fact that her father hates her husband, he knows that Sandy is what she needs.

She remembers saying, "No. You can't Daddy, not anymore."

She hears the word "Sandy," it brings her back to the real world.

It's really the way that she says the words "You can't," instead of "Not anymore," that honestly get to her father and only then does he notice the phone is off the hook, and he hears muttered words coming from it. He reaches for the phone and puts it up to his ear, demanding answers and getting them, but they aren't the answers he wants to hear and now he knows what's wrong with his baby girl.

"Kirsten, honey. I'm so sorry," he pulls her against him but she doesn't cry. At least she thinks that she doesn't, she doesn't really remember.

At that point she is thoroughly convinced the -I'm so sorry's - will definitely haunt her to her own grave.

XxXxX

It's 6:15 p.m. when her father stops the car in front of her house and she just sits in the passenger's seat, staring out the window.

He knows she doesn't want to go inside. That will make it all too real and the huge house is now all too empty.

She now has the duty to tell her sons something that no mother should ever have to say or explain. She goes through the motions and gets out of the car and walks up the steps to a house in which she doesn't want to enter.

Seth and Ryan are playing the Playstation in the living room when she opens the door and she can hear his haunting words of, "_Seth! What did we say!" _Echoing down the desolate hallway.

They're laughing.

She opens her mouth to speak but no words come out so her father does it for her.

"Seth. Ryan, in the kitchen."

They pause and look at each other before shutting off the game and hurrying into the kitchen. Both look questionable as to what was going to be said. "Mom if this is about the box of cookies I can-," but Caleb has a stern look and holds up a hand for Seth to shut up. He does and looks nervously at him. His grandfather always let him ramble.

She braces her hands on the counter and doesn't look at either of them as they enter. She bites her bottom lip until it hurts while her father places a reassuring hand upon her back.

Sandy used to do that, place his hand upon her back to let her know he was there.

She remembers that just this morning she was reading the paper and he came up behind her, his body warm and full of life, and he nuzzled her neck before resting his chin on her shoulder and read the paper with her. She could feel the heat radiating from his body and the smell of his Armani cologne.

Seth's "Mom?" shook her from her reverie and she looked at him and sees Sandy in his worried gaze.

"Mom? Is something wrong?"

'_Time stopped, Seth.'_

"Seth, Ryan. I don't…" she sighs, "I don't even know…" she moans, how can she do this, she can't even get the words out. Her white knuckled grasp on the counter manages to get even tighter, she doesn't know how.

She wants to yell the words, _"How could you leave me all alone like this! How could you?" _But she can't, she simply can't. She's an adult and she's not allowed that luxury.

She suddenly finds that she can't even remember how to speak proper sentences. She doesn't even want to know how she is going to function in the morning. Morning is another time, in her world where time has stopped.

Seth watches her body language and watches how she keeps looking at the counter, straining not to break down, her knuckles are white and there is a look he can't even describe.

Seth knows. There are only two things in the world that could make his mother lose her gifted talent for speaking. His father, or his Grandfather. But Grampa was right here with his stony face and his Dad was no where in sight.

Seth doesn't hear the tremble in his own voice but they do. His voice is high pitch like a kid going through puberty.

"It's Dad, isn't it? Something happened to Dad. Is he okay? He's okay isn't he Mom? Dad's all right isn't he Grampa? We have the best doctors at the hospital, you can make sure they get the best doctors can't you Grampa? You have lots of money and stuff and you can pay them right? Dad's okay isn't he Grampa? Mom?" But Seth's rambling voice is flat by the last "Mom," and he knows why his mother can't speak and say the words out loud.

Because that means forever and that's a long time. That's a long, long time. Forever is permanent. Forever is forever.

Seth's world came to a grinding pause at 6:26 p.m. To Seth, those few moments and seconds felt like forever. He can't help himself as he pulls his cellphone out of his pocket and presses 3 talk. Speed dial is bliss.

His Dad will answer, his Dad always answers.

Summer is 2.

Dad is 3,

Mom is 4 and

Ryan is 5.

Summer bitched about not being number 2. He would have made her number one but his Sprint phone already has that as voicemail. So he rearranged it and made her 2. His Mom used to be 2. Dad was always 3. So Mom became 4. And Ryan, well Ryan's always been 5.

A picture of his father with a Yamaclause on and a goofy grin on his face appears. He took it at Christmukkah, when they were helping Lindsay out.

The phone rings and rings and his voicemail picks up. "Hey! You've reached Sandy Cohen, sorry I missed your call, leave a message and I'll call you back."

Seth presses the End button on his phone. His Dad didn't answer. His father always answers when he calls. **Always**. Somewhere deep down he knows that his father won't be "calling him back," anytime soon. That thought hits him hard.

Ryan watches as Seth shuts his phone slowly and watches him pale considerably. It's 6:29 p.m. when Ryan realizes that his own world has turned upside down forever. He wants nothing more than to bolt to the safety of the pool house, take a quick nap and wake up, where everything will be fine again. Sandy will be home making a comment about Kirsten's cooking and she'll give him a stern look and Ryan will watch as he caves and walks over to her, kissing her on the cheek, all while winking at him.

They both know she can't cook.

Sandy always had a way with Kirsten, in fact he always had a way with everyone and Ryan knows that he can't handle Kirsten by himself. That thought alone makes him tremble.

Suddenly Seth scrambles from the table and runs into the bathroom, everyone can hear him retching and no one blames him. Seth's world really came to an end at 6:32 p.m.

Kirsten can't bring herself to move from her ash-white knuckled grip on the counter so Caleb goes and checks on Seth for her.

Kirsten's eyes meet Ryan's and she's surprised the young boys are slowly filling up with tears and she wants nothing more than to comfort him but she can't. She can't even comfort her own son, Sandy's son.

She looks away. Sandy's the reason Ryan is here.

XxXxX

It's 12:31 in the morning and the last time she was up this late was last week when Sandy came home and she waited up for him.

"_I was worried."_

"_Sorry honey, the phone died, I told you earlier I was probably going to be stuck working late tonight."_

_She nods as he crosses over to her, work clothes and all, and she grabbed a hold of his tie and pulled him down for a kiss. He was surprised as he was expecting a scolding._

"_You're here now, that's all that matters." _

_He grinned, and she loved his smile._

She looks at her nearly empty glass of amber liquid and frowns. She's pulled out all stops tonight and decided to wrestle with Jack Daniel's and his gang of whiskey friends. Sandy would occasionally enjoy a Jack –N- Coke when he wanted too.

It's raining forcefully outside and for once she's okay with it, it matches her mood. She's too buzzed to care right now, completely numb on the inside and numb on the outside.

If this were a normal night she would have cuddled closer to Sandy to keep warm and he would protect her from the thunderstorm that would surely follow the rain. She would always bury her face against him to shield her eyes from the lightning and somehow he murmured comforting words to lull her back to sleep. Sometimes they stayed up together and watched the storm and the rain pound against the windows.

She frowned.

He always liked the rain.

XxXxX

It's 4:48 in the morning and the storm woke Seth up from his disturbed sleep. Saturday. If it could be called that. He cried himself into exhaustion. He dozed. He couldn't sleep if his life depended on it. He was tempted to steal some liquor, but decided against it. Another night, he supposed. There would be an endless amount of them to do such.

He walked downstairs and saw his mother sleeping on the couch. He wondered if she wold ever sleep in her bedroom again. The bottle of Jack was nearly empty and he watched as she shivered unconsciously and moaned restlessly. He doesn't even have to think twice as to whom she's dreaming about.

He walked over to the closet and grabbed a blanket and placed it over his Mom, hoping that she might find just a little warmth, but he doubted it. He didn't think she would ever be warm again.

He looked and her and felt a twinge of sorrow course through him. The effects of losing his father were already appearing on his mother. Dark circles were underneath her eyes and when he looked at her today and when she had tried to tell him, she was a different person. She was now a walking zombie. His mother had twenty some years with his father. Whatever they went through, they went through together. This was the first time in those years that she would have to do something by herself.

Despite the chill he walked out to the pool house in shorts and a T-shirt, his feet were bare. It was still raining but Seth didn't care. If his mother noticed she might yell at him. His Dad surely would have had a comeback remark of, "You're going to get pneumonia." His Dad always thought that everything would give him pneumonia. He was always fussing over him.

Seth winced when he realizes now that maybe he should have let him fuss more. A lot more.

The pool house was quiet and Seth expected nothing else. He wanted that, he wanted solitude, as his own house now made him feel claustrophobic. Ryan watched him coming from the main house but didn't notion to him at all. He simply moved over on the bed and Seth sat down beside him.

Neither one made the notion to speak and Seth leaned his head back against the headboard. They watched as the rain streamed down the glass walls. They had a comfortable silence, they were brothers and it was something that only the two of them understood.

Right now there was no need for words and Seth didn't know if there ever would be again.

XxXxX

She heard a buzzing noise that roused her from her dark irritable slumber and glanced at her watch, 6:30 a.m. It was Sandy's alarm. Her alarm _was_ Sandy and he would effectively manage to wake her at 7 every morning, in ways that she loved. He started every morning out with a kiss, whether she was mad at him or not. That was just Sandy.

She groaned. For a second when she first awoke, she thought it had all been a bad dream. The continuous beeping of the alarm confirmed that it was indeed nothing of the sort.

Opening the bedroom door she glanced at where the alarm was and reached over and grabbed the cord and yanked, pulling the plug from its socket and silencing it forever. There was no need to wake up at 6:30 anymore. She looked at her own alarm clock. She would have to set it when she felt like going back to work.

If, she ever went back to work.

If she didn't have the boys, there would be no need to wake up at all anymore.

Her stomach was queasy and she made it to the bathroom before collapsing to her knees and vomiting up the immense amount of liquor that she had consumed hours before. If Sandy were here, he would have held back her hair. But then again, if Sandy were here, she wouldn't have drank it at all.

Going through the motions of making herself presentable she walks absentmindedly downstairs, opens the door, grabs the paper and sets it on the counter. Before even reading the front page she grabs Seth his Arts & Leisure, Ryan the Sports section and Sandy the Entertainment section.

They always read the Business section together.

She stopped herself and put the Entertainment section in the trash. She stopped reading the front page when the first two words in the main headline were RED FRIDAY - SANDY COHEN…

She didn't need to read the paper today.

Instead she walks back up to her bedroom and slowly eases on Sandy's side. The room isn't warm or inviting. The room feels empty and bare. She can smell him on his pillow and she pulls it tightly to her body. Somehow his smell isn't as strong as it was the night before and she realizes the harsh truth. Even the simple things are slowly fading away.

Time stopped again.

XxXxX

She goes to check on the Ryan and finds Seth in his room, they're both asleep on opposite sides of the bed. At least Seth still has Ryan and Ryan has Seth. Together they would hold each other up when the other was foundering. They were best friends and brothers, and nothing else was needed to be said.

She smiles as they sleep, content in each other's presence. Ryan was Seth's drug and vice versa, they wouldn't need a crutch to fall asleep, not when they had each other. They weren't like her.

Sandy had helped her raise good boys, the best.

XxXxX

She went back inside to her own hell in time to hear the doorbell ring. Her father steps through the door and gives her a hug followed by Julie and Marissa.

"It was hell to get in here, Kiki."

She pauses as she shuts the door and looks up at him. "Why?" Her voice is hoarse and it startles her. She clears her throat.

"The press. They're everywhere like sardines in a can, outside by the gait. I told that gatekeeper Carl or whatever to let no one through unless they call the house here first. Julie can handle it."

She shakes her head and leads them into the kitchen. Julie fills her in on how its suddenly "Big News and everyone keeps calling it "RED Friday," because he was married to Kirsten and it was Caleb's son-in-law. She tunes out when Julie starts explaining the RED part, and Caleb cuts her off before she gets into the gory details. Julie truly is a Newpsie, she never really knows when to shut her mouth when it comes to gossip.

Kirsten can hear that Julie is disgusted and she gives her a tiny smile of thanks.

Maybe it's not even a smile. Just the very corner of her mouth turned up and a raise of her eyebrow. That's all that could be mustered at the moment.

So there was a Black Friday, for the day after thanksgiving and now a RED Friday specifically for her husband. RED Friday.

_RED._

_FRIDAY._

_So sorry Mrs. Cohen. _

"Marissa, the boys are in the pool house." She catches Marissa off guard and she jumps at the sound of her voice.

"Thanks Kirsten," she pauses. "I'm so sorry."

_Sorry._

The phone rings and Kirsten looks at it blankly.

"Hello?"

"May I speak to Mrs. Kirsten Cohen?"

She blinks. _Ms. Kirsten Cohen._ "This is her."

_So sorry._

"Missus' Cohen, My name is Jake and I'm calling from the funeral home. Mrs. Cohen, I'm so sorry to hear about your husband…."

Kirsten pulls back and looks at it wearily. She can't deal with this right now. She wordlessly hands the phone over to her father. He takes it from her and asks "Whom I speaking to? Yes, yes go ahead."

He saw her expression, he can do the dirty work for once.

It was too soon. She couldn't handle it. That makes it all too real and she knows now that she is alone forever. And she can't go back in time.

_So sorry for your loss._

It's 8:57 am.

Time has stopped once more for Kirsten.

XxXxX

She knows what the next step is and goes up to her bedroom with Julie hot on her heels, asking a question here and there, but Kirsten knows that her Dad probably sent her to make sure she didn't slice her wrists or something.

Caleb knows the family can't have two deaths in one week.

She walks into Sandy's closet and picks out one of his Armani black suits and her favorite royal blue shirt that always matched the color of his eyes. She loves this shirt. She grabbed a black silk tie and walked back down to where her father is. He's still on the phone.

"Tell them we will be there shortly," her voice is ice and her father looks at her with frightful eyes. He covers the mouthpiece of the phone. "Honey, you sure? We can do this later." That's something Sandy would have said.

"_Honey! Come on, you can work on this later, the boys are gone…" His grin is infectious and pretty soon he has her grinning as he tells all the ways he can get her mind off of work. _

_She has to finish this one tiny section and he gives a sigh and retreats into the living room and flops on the couch._

_She's disappointed him yet again and they haven't seen much of each other this week. She puts down the plans and walks into the room, before easing into his lap. _

_He smiles at her before kissing her deeply and somehow manages to pick her up and carry her out into their hot tub part of the pool. He silences her protests as he walks into the water fully clothed. _

"_Sandy, the boys…" _

"_I gave them both two hundred dollars each and told them they had to be home at 2:01 and not a second sooner or later or else they would be grounded. He looked at his watch before whispering against her mouth, "It's barely ten now…"_

She nods her head, and her father speaks her requests into the phone. "I don't want to do this later."

XxXxX

Everything's a blur at the funeral home and for the most part it's her father making decisions. He's making decisions and she's nodding her head to the stupid words of "Mrs. Cohen, I'm so sorry for your loss….What church? Do you have something for him to wear? We try to make this as easy as possible…Coffins. We have several available…" He passed out a book, "Wooden, Titanium, Solid Oak, Aluminum…." He blah'd until Kirsten couldn't hear him. She didn't know if she would ever actually hear anyone again.

_So sorry for your loss._

_Your loss._

_So sorry Mrs. Cohen. _

_Sorry._

_Loss._

_Yours._

_So sorry. _

But for some reason she glanced at the book as her father was flipping through them. It was black, and chrome, and there was a dark blue oak ring that went around and outlines the chrome.

"That one," she pointed and it was the first time she made a decision by herself without her father asking, "Kirsten? Is this okay?"

"Kirsten, you sure? It's only ten." Ten, meaning ten grand. Ten thousand fucking dollars for a coffin. Some people didn't make that in a year and that was the one that she was picking out for her husband. Ten G's. Ten Buckaroos. Ten Mina.

And all the money in the world couldn't bring him back with her.

She gave him a look that would make Satin flinch and nodded.

"That one," she said quietly and watched as the man wrote in his book.

_Mrs. Cohen, I'm so sorry…_

It was 12:34 in the afternoon. She was tired, but she wouldn't sleep.

Today, time had a mind of its own.

_Sorry._

XxXxX

Marissa sat in between Ryan and Seth and watched them sleep. She couldn't even imagine how they felt right now. It was if time simply stopped for them, and for Kirsten. So far she seemed to be fairing all right but it was just an act.

Everyone thought Marissa faired "all right." But she wasn't. She smiled when she needed too, she hid the black raccoon eyes with makeup, she drowned the memories in liquor, and when she hits rock bottom she always hides in the blankets and darkness of her bedroom. But she was never really "All right." She doesn't really know when the last time she's felt "All right."

Kirsten was now the same way. She was on her way down to a dark black path, one Marissa knew all too well. One that there was no light at the end of the tunnel. But this time Marissa didn't see a knight standing there. Marissa knew Kirsten didn't believe in fairy tales now.

XxXxX

Things were set, time never standing still.

Monday, first showing, 11-2. Second showing 5-7.

Tuesday. First showing, 11-2. Second showing 3-5.

Wednesday, Funeral 1:30 until?

Preacher and children's choir paid for.

Extra white lilies and roses paid for.

Closed casket, all showings. There would be lots of flowers. They were already showing up at the parlor from people around Newport. Some she knew and some whom she had no fucking idea who sent them.

Seth, Ryan, and Luke would help carry Sandy's black coffin.

Two black stretch limousines, for the family. One for Caleb, Julie, and Marissa. The other for Kirsten, Ryan and Seth.

Hers would lead in the percussion to the final resting-place of Sandy, at the cemetery.

Her father would be paying the limousine driver until he deemed Kirsten "All right to drive."

Until the chaos stopped from the press. Caleb knew they would hound her until they got their answers, the little bastards. He also knew the family couldn't suffer another loss.

She smirked. She would never be "All right," again.

Her limo driver's name was Tom. Sensible Tom. Sensible, young, handsome, Tom. Tom smiled and opened doors. Tom brought her a small white rose this late afternoon when he first met her. "Hi, my name is Tom, Tom Smith. I'm sorry about your husband, Mrs. Cohen…"

Her father didn't tell her that Tom was an ex-Navy Seal and Secret Service Agent for private hire. Tom was a man of many talents.

Kirsten looked up at him. "Thank you, Tom." She accepted his white rose.

_Thank you, Tom._

_I'm sorry for your loss Mrs. Cohen._

_Thank you._

_I'm sorry for your loss._

_Thank you._

_I'm so sorry._

_Thank you._

_Kirsten, I'm sorry for your loss._

_Thank you._

It was 7:56 p.m. and she told Tom to take Seth, Ryan, Summer and Marissa out to get something to eat. She gave him money for the four of them and told Tom to get something to eat as well. And she told him to take care of her babies. She practically had to force them to go – but she couldn't take both of them watching her every move like she was going to get up and leave them too.

Summer squealed in spite of herself when the Tom had rolled up to her house in the shiny black limo. Seth had called to tell her that and despite of what was happening she gave a small smile. "That's great Seth." She feels better knowing that neither of her sons are driving and that someone else is looking out for them.

"Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

"Sweetie. I love you too. And Ryan, tell Ryan I love him."

But Seth passed his phone over to Ryan when he heard her say his name and she listened as his soft voice came over the phone.

"Kirsten? Everything okay?"

"Ryan," she smiled hearing his voice. "Everything fine honey. I just wanted Seth to tell you I love you."

It was quiet for a moment. "I love you too, Kirsten," his voice quivered and he passed the phone back to Seth.

"Mom? We'll be home by 1. Okay?"

"That's fine Seth. Be careful. Put Tom on the phone."

Seth passed the phone to young/older than him Tom. "Yes, Mrs. Cohen."

"Tom? Take care of my babies Tom, my_ sons, _they're all I have left."

"Of course Mrs. Cohen."

_Mrs. _

_Mrs. Cohen. _

_Mrs. Sandy Cohen. _

"Tom? One more thing. Please, call me Kirsten."

She hung up the phone.

_Ms. Kirsten Cohen._

She sighed.

She went into the liquor closet and grabbed the tequila and pulled out the blender, throwing in ice, Margarita mix, lime, and nearly half the bottle of tequila.

Fuck it.

The whirring of the blender ceased she took the pitcher and paused. She set it on the counter and went to go look through a junk drawer and found what she was looking for. A ridiculously long straw that was bent all around and everywhere but it was huge. Jimmy had gotten it for Sandy when they opened the restaurant as a gag gift because they couldn't get a liquor license.

She placed the straw in the pitcher and smiled inwardly. Miss Kirsten Cohen. Ms. Cohen.

Her silver wedding bands gleamed in the dark, yelling to her. Screaming, begging, yelling SANDY's name. _Sandy, Sandy, Sandy. _

She closed her eyes.

Yep. Fuck it.

XxXxX

Getting out of the house was nice, and it was what they needed. To chill with Marissa and Summer and listen to Marissa bitch about Julie. Even if it was only for a few hours. It was just easier to pretend the real world didn't exist and it was just the four friends like old times.

Sometimes Seth didn't think his Grandma was as bad as Marissa made her out to be.

It was nice to hear what kind of painkillers Summer's mother was on. It was always something new. For a second, Ryan was tempted to ask if she could get some for him, but decided against it.

Kirsten had enough to deal with.

They went to a Quaker Stake and ordered wings, it was all you could eat night and it was a huge buffet.

"Mom's treat," Seth grinned and tried to lighten the heavy mood.

They went to a movie and enjoyed the envious looks from the other kids as the black stretch pulled up to the curb and Tom opened the door for them.

It was nice to get out of the house and pretend that things were normal still and time hadn't stopped for them.

When they were standing in line Seth couldn't help but overhear someone whisper forcefully, "Jason, isn't that Seth?"

"Who's Seth?"

"You know, Sandy Cohen's son. Jason! The lawyer who's client turned psychotic and shot him in the courthouse in front of everyone! RED Friday? It's all over the news and in the papers! I can't believe he's out in public! Someone said they needed money and did it on purpose. Oh it was…."

Seth whirled around to face the two adults face to face.

"Hi, Yes, I'm Seth Cohen. Yes my father was killed this weekend and yes I'm out in public trying to deal with my four friends and take a couple hours break from everything. You know, to try to forget… That there?" He pointed to Ryan over by Marissa, "That's Ryan, my brother, he's also out trying to take a break. That's Summer, my girlfriend, and that's Marissa Cooper, yeah she's the infamous Jimmy Cooper's daughter. That's Tom right beside you, he's our limo driver, carting us around town and such. My mother's name is Kirsten Cohen, and my grandfather built Newport Beach." Seth took a breath.

He held up his cellphone and jiggled it in the woman's face. "This? This is my cell phone and if I hear anyone that mentions my father's name like that again I will sue faster than you can say Dirty Fucking Rich Kid and you will be lucky if you can find a job at a janitors office working the graveyard shift! I hope you enjoy your show, you fucking morons."

So Seth was a little bit angrier than he thought.

Summer was by the concession stand. None of them had heard. Tom patted his back as he walked in with him. Tom knows that it's like.

Fucking time. He wished he could go back when he was known as Seth Cohen, Caleb Nichol's grandson, Kirsten Cohen's son. Not Seth Cohen, son of murdered Sandy Cohen.

On RED Friday. Hell, they re-colored a Friday because of his father.

He sighed. Summer walked over and gave him a hug. He needed that hug.

XxXxX

Kirsten set a new record for drinking a whole pitcher by herself.

In fact drinking a whole bottle of tequila by herself was a new record. One she hadn't done in years. Not since Sandy. Not since meeting him at college.

Sandy.

Twenty years of having someone by her side, through thick and thin. Now it was an indefinite amount of years without him.

She missed him.

She missed his kiss, and his gentle touch, and the way he smiled at her.

God she missed him.

For the first time since Friday she allowed herself the luxury of crying. She was holding the Christmukkah card picture and crying.

Like a baby.

More like sobbing uncontrollably. The tears just rolled out and there was no stopping them.

She was leaning back against him, not a care in the world, Ryan and Seth beside her, all of them smiling and happy.

They were a family and a happy one at that. Now they were shattered pieces and Kirsten didn't know how she was going to get through Monday and Tuesday.

She didn't even want to think about Wednesday.

Why did he leave her all alone?

Did he know she couldn't do this by herself? He knew that.

The mail had come and even though she was shitfaced beyond help she decided to read it. Or go through it. When she was drunk she was still tactical and could play cards with the best of them. She could read her own mail if she wanted too. She leafed through it until she found a letter addressed to her in handwriting that she didn't recognize.

_Dear Mrs. Kirsten Cohen,_

_You don't know me and I don't know you, other than your namesake. My name is David Harding. I was one of the jurors in courtroom at the time of the shooting. I'm so sorry about your loss. It was so frightening Mrs. Cohen and when the gunshots went off none of us had time to react. I am an EMT and I did everything I possibly could for him until an ambulance got to the courthouse and I'm so sorry that I failed you, and your sons. I tried, I tried so hard to help him and the best I could do was talk to him and make sure he wasn't alone. _

_He kept asking for you and your sons. We managed to talk for a little while maybe about fifteen minutes and he made me promise I would tell you these things. I had a notebook at the time and wrote them down word for word. _

"_Seth, you're not rag on your mothers cooking so much, to make sure you still take out the garbage on the night its due and to not give you mother any trouble. Be good son, be smart. You were always my pride and joy Seth. I love you. I'm sorry and I wish I could be there for all of you."_

"_Ryan, you're to stay out of trouble and no fighting allowed. None. Watch over my girl for me, you might have to watch sappy movies with her and let her cry. Be good son, be smart. Keep playing soccer, You make me so proud everyday Ryan, I love you."_

"_Kirsten, Baby, please, please take care of yourself. Please. Let the boy's help you and I'm so sorry that I can't be there with you anymore. I love you so much, so, so much and I'm sorry for breaking our agreement that we had made at Berkeley. You made my everyday worth it. Kirsten, I love you and I love our family. I'm watching over you, but I wish I was with you. It hurts me that I'm leaving you. I love you so." _

_Mrs. Cohen, I wrote this letter to you so that maybe in your time of need you might find just a little peace. _

_As an EMT I took off your husbands wedding band, the courtroom we were in – who knows what might have happened to it. I enclose it in this letter. I'm so sorry that I couldn't do more. _

_Sincerely, _

_Dave Harding._

She reached into the envelope and found Sandy's wedding band. She pulled off her diamond ring and placed the overly large ring on her graceful finger before putting the diamond back on. It was big but the other ring wouldn't let it slip.

She was too drunk to go upstairs to her empty lonely bedroom to get a chain and place the ring on it, where she would wear it until the day she died.

Only Sandy would think of that stupid agreement that was made so long ago.

God she missed him.

She didn't know if she could do this without him.

Kirsten Cohen cried for her husband, early on a Sunday morning, when time has no meaning to her and for her, Time stopped on Friday.

XxXxX


	2. E

Thank you all for your very kind reviews, they are appreciated GREATLY. However, this does not mean you can go back to lurking. I expect every single person to re-review this chapter again. And I mean it…. PS… I know there is still lurkers out there, I know it, I can sssssseeeeee you…. Please review guys, like I said I write these for you!

I only pray that you all love this chapter as much as you enjoyed the last one and that I don't disappoint anybody.

Oh – I lied, it's going to be a three parter. Possibly four – depends on your reviews if you want a 4th. – but you guys ask for that at the end of the 3rd, ok? And yes the past/present thing is to make it all wacky feeling, I mean, Sandy's…dead. :o(

But I felt that by the end of this chapter too much had happened to drag it out any longer and you guys might feel overwhelmed. So.

And one more thing. I know Sandy is Jewish. But personally, and this is in my humbleness of faith, I believe he only really pushed the issue when The Nana was around. Kirsten wasn't. Sandy's death – accidental – Kirsten is left in charge, or rather Caleb. You get it right? Besides for the story to play out it has to be this way. There is no sense in arguing religion, or else we would be in a pissing match for life. It's my story, therefore this is how it goes.

Enough of my bullshit – Please, Read- Review and Vamanos!

XxXxX

"_When we're not together…"_

"_Everything shuts down." _

_-Up Close and Personal. _

XxXxX

It's 1:18 in the morning when they come home. Seth and Ryan shush Marissa and Summer as they walk into the main house and notice Kirsten sleeping, or rather passed out, her tear stained face spoke volumes for how she spent the night. The Christmukkah card rests on her chest and the letter is tangled within her grasp.

They send Summer and Marissa upstairs in Seth's room to wait for them. Tom now occupies the pool house after Kirsten insisted that Ryan "must have," the room next to Seth's.

Ryan knew she wanted him close. She wanted all of them close. Because Sandy is gone and she has never felt lonelier. He can see it on her face and the way she is constantly twisting those platinum bands that Sandy gave her so long ago.

Ryan makes her comfortable while Seth removes the card and carefully untwists the fragile paper from her icy grip. He can see where her tears have hit and smeared parts of the black ink.

Ryan covers her and goes into the kitchen, placing the near empty pitcher in the sink before returning to her with a glass of water and 3 Extra Strength Tylenol Gel-caps.

No one knew that it was her second pitcher.

No one knew she drank herself into such a stupor that she couldn't even stand up.

Ryan knows a thing about hangovers, and she looks like she will have a good one. Trey's motto used to be, "Tylenol Before – Headache No More!"

He was a riot act in Chino.

"Kirsten? Wake up…" He slowly nudges her awake.

Ryan doesn't notice Seth as he sits on the other side of the table and reads the letter, his hands shaking.

'_Dear Mrs. Kirsten Cohen,_

_You don't know me and I don't know you, other than your namesake. My name is David Harding. I was one of the jurors in courtroom at the time of the shooting….' _Seth's dark eyes roam the paper hungrily, greedy even.

He doesn't know what to think.

He knows that somewhere deep inside of him, he's jealous of David. David got be say goodbye to his Dad. Seth didn't get that option. A small part of him feels relieved, his Dad was not alone. His Dad loved him, his Dad was proud of him.

He missed his father. He looks up at the clock, its 1:24 a.m. and he's missed his father about 400 times since midnight.

"Real quick Kirsten," he says quietly. "Come on."

She shivers and moans Sandy's name.

Ryan sucks his breath in sharply.

"Kirsten… It's Ryan, wake up," he says it tenderly, but forcefully.

She doesn't need anymore delusions of grandeur tonight.

He placed his hand on the side of her cheek and that does it.

Her eyes flutter and Ryan can tell she's fucking hammered. The odd thing is she doesn't reek of alcohol, it's just the way her eyes look. Dark blue, unresponsive, her pupils are dilated because they're too fucked up to do their job. Her face is flushed with a heated pink. It's the look Dawn always had.

It's a look Ryan hates.

But he forgives Kirsten because Kirsten is in denial and shock. Kirsten lost her other half, Kirsten lost her best friend, her center, and she's now losing her control.

Dawn, never had it.

Any of it.

She wakes up and takes the pills wordlessly and drinks the water like she's told to do before nuzzling down against the fuzzy warm blankets and soft down pillows.

Ryan rubs her back soothingly and within moments he can tell she's passed out into a world where Sandy and her happiness still exist. The only way he can tell is the small tiny smile that she gives off. He knows the only time she smiles now is when she thinks of Sandy.

Times where she's remembering the past, not grimacing of the future.

He gets up from resting on his heels and suddenly there is a light thump in his chest where Seth slams the letter into it.

Seth's eyes hold tears and he quietly chokes the words, "Read it," and nothing more. Ryan looks at the letter crumpled into his chest and then looks at Seth as he walks over to one of the huge windows. He watches as his shoulders heave up and down but no sounds came out.

Seth's a silent crier.

He holds his breath, for a second he thinks the worst – the letter was to him telling him that Kirsten would no longer be responsible for him and that she couldn't take him being around. Telling him that she couldn't deal with him now that Sandy wasn't around, telling him his biggest fear.

For a second.

It's only natural to think the worst for you – when the worst has already happened to someone else.

Then he catches the beginning,

_Dear Mrs. Kirsten Cohen,_

_You don't know me and I don't know you, other than your namesake. My name is David Harding. I was one of the jurors in courtroom at the time of the shooting.'_

Ryan grits his teeth as he reaches the dedications that Sandy struggled to say before his last breath.

Of course Sandy couldn't just leave them without making sure they knew how he felt.

"_Seth, you're not rag on your mothers cooking so much, to make sure you still take out the garbage on the night its due and to not give you mother any trouble. Be good son, be smart. You were always my pride and joy Seth. I love you. I'm sorry and I wish I could be there for all of you."_

"_Ryan, you're to stay out of trouble and no fighting allowed. None. Watch over my girl for me, you might have to watch sappy movies with her and let her cry. Be good son, be smart. Keep playing soccer, You make me so proud everyday Ryan, I love you."_

It's simple, it's to the point and it hurts like hell. He wants to crumple the letter and yell at Sandy. He wants to yell, "It's not fair!" and "I can't be the sole protector of this family! Not me, you got the wrong guy!"

But Ryan is not that kind of person. Not only does he deliver - he delivers with flying colors and punches.

At 1:31 in the morning, Ryan Atwood makes a vow to himself that this family will not fall, and he will do everything in his power to see that vow through. Maybe, sometime this week or tomorrow because right now his knees are too weak and his hands are shaking.

He can no longer read the writing from the letter.

Gingerly he sits the letter down the table and sighs. A hand dishevels his blond hair, already messy hair. He sighs again.

It's 1:47 a.m. and for the forty-ninth time since one a.m. came around, Ryan wishes Sandy didn't leave them. He wishes he would have fought harder to stay here in this earth.

It's a lot to think about… Sandy talking to this man, talking about Seth, about Kirsten, about him. He wonders helplessly to himself if Sandy's voice was deep and smooth like normal or if it was coming in harsh ragged breaths. He can't help but wonder how much pain he was in, if any.

Gunshots were tricky bastards if placed right. Some caused more pain than the human body could bear, and some didn't hurt at all.

He doesn't know. Only David does. Only David knows how much pain he was in. Only David knows if anyone else came to help. Only David knows how much he pleaded for his family.

Only David.

He doesn't even know what David looks like.

He looks at Seth, and he can't help but notice how much he looks like Sandy standing there.

The thinner, lankier version, with less eyebrows, but he still sees Sandy.

Still sees that dark mop of hair being unruly. Still sees the goofy grin and the sparkling, caring eyes that Seth inherited.

The way that Seth is slightly hunched over, with his arm up bracing himself against the wall, his head tilted down just a little bit and all his weight rests on his right foot, the left one balancing on his toe, his heel clear of the ground.

This is Seth's I-Don't-Know-What-To-Think pose.

This was Sandy's I-Don't-Know-What-To-Think pose.

Seth inherited the 'Think' pose.

Ryan can remember many times where Sandy was in the 'Think' pose, worried about something and Kirsten managed to scoot underneath his arm, her eyes meeting his, talking him down from doing something stupid. Somehow Kirsten could always take away Sandy's problems and vice versa. They were made for each other and they knew it.

Kirsten used to laugh about it.

Kirsten used to do a lot of things that she won't do again, laughing included.

Ryan takes a huge breath, rises and pats Seth on the shoulder.

Seth nods.

He casts a dark look at his mother before walking up the stairs to Marissa and Summer.

XxXxX

Summer and Marissa left. Seth knew his Mom wouldn't want them spending the night.

He refuses to disobey her wishes.

"You know something Ryan? I never understood why people always associate colors with days, or holidays you know? Green and Red for Christmas, Orange and Black for Halloween, Pink and Red for Valentines day, and then Black for black Friday, Summer's favorite because of the stupid sales. But now, now things are different, see, its called RED Friday, now. So that makes like a Gray Saturday, Beige Sunday, Purple Monday, Tumbleweed Tuesday, Blue Wednesday and Shit-Colored Thursday. I never really understood it."

Ryan raised an eyebrow.

Seth was really losing it. That letter really got to him.

"Tumbleweed Tuesday, Shit-Colored Thursday, Seth?" Now he too was going bonkers, talking about colors and days of the week.

"Yeah, it's that crappy color that seems to be the new hit on cars now a days, better than Diarrhea Thursday. Tumbleweed is a God-awful color if you use it in a coloring book. Besides," he murmured, "I ran out of colors and I had to save Blue for Wednesday."

Wednesday.

The Funeral.

Thee Funeral.

Permanent.

The End.

No looking back.

The "Dun-Dun," music.

"Blue Wednesday," Ryan says quietly. "Seth…?" That was the voice Ryan used when he talked about Kirsten. Seth listened as Ryan's tone softened when he said "Seth…?" Seth automatically knew that Ryan was implying about his mother.

They knew by the tones of each other's voices as to whom in the family they were talking about.

"I don't know. I don't know how she's going to take it."

Ryan nodded against the dark of his pillow as he flopped on his back and stared at the ceiling. He didn't know either.

"_We lost the pump, someone's going to have to blow that baby up!" _

Something like that. Something about that stupid pump.

Sandy was such a goober sometimes. Why did he always fucking smile so much?

And why did Sandy have to die? There were a million other people that God could have taken that day. A million better lawyers, why Sandy?

That marks over fifty times that Ryan has thought about Sandy dying since one o' clock ante meridiem.

Seth jerked Ryan from his questionable and unyielding thoughts.

"Isn't it supposed to be Blue Monday? Yeah, yeah, I think it is, Blue Monday. I know it's supposed to be Blue Monday, but it kind of felt out of character, you know? I think Orgy has a song called Blue Monday. Dad always hated Mondays. Do you think I'm like him Ryan? Like my Dad? I used to hate when people used to say that I was "_just like him!_" I always thought that it was too minty, you know. But do you?"

Ryan could hear the shear hope in Seth's voice.

"Yeah, Seth I do. I think you're like your Dad…" Ryan mumbled drowsily, trying his best to reassure Seth because he was getting into some nutso ramblings.

Ramblings so nutso that Ryan was taking into consideration about taking Seth to see a doctor when this was all over.

He doubted Kirsten could.

But what Seth doesn't comment on is that Ryan is too, like his Dad. Always making sure things were okay, always trying to help someone.

Sandy used to ramble sometimes, when he was in a bind, or something was wrong with Kirsten. Or Seth. Sandy would ramble on occasion to Ryan.

He would miss the older man's ramblings.

He rolled over and sighed again. He listened as Seth's soft snores filled the room finally. Finally Seth feel into an uneasy sleep. But yet it was sleep nonetheless.

Who didn't miss Sandy? _Who didn't? Who didn't? Who didn't?_

XxXxX

It's 7:16 in the morning. What day? Purple Monday. Kirsten's first thoughts are, _'I'm late, and it's Sandy's fault.' _

Then she realizes she's late for nothing. And Sandy won't be waking her up in the mornings other than from horrible nightmares and heartbreaking loneliness.

Sunday was a blur, and she called and told her father to keep everyone away. They all needed rest and she was hung-over and didn't give two fucks about who was sorry today.

_So sorry Kirsten. _

She took more Tylenol and trudged up to Seth's room, pulling down on the blinds. Kirsten figures an airliner could have crashed into the Cohen household and neither of them would have cared or woken up.

For once Ryan didn't wake but Seth did. He stared at her and she looked back at him. She looked like shit and it registered on his face. He didn't say anything but patted his bed and let her curl up on his bed with him. Whether it was cool or uncool to let your Mother sleep in the same bed as you when you're seventeen - Seth didn't care.

Seth was all she had left of Sandy.

XxXxX

The Nana would be arriving on a late flight, Monday.

Luke was flying in from Portland.

Anna was flying in from Pittsburgh.

Jimmy was flying in from some island that no one had even heard of.

Marissa called him and broke the news. Jimmy had cried on the phone with her.

Lindsay couldn't make it. She sends her sympathy.

These were the messages in a nutshell on the Cohen's answering machine.

Conveniently Anna and Luke's flight arrive within minutes of each other.

Inconveniently the first showing was today, his mother was a wreck, part of Seth's hair wouldn't flop down, and Ryan was jittery.

Actually they were all jittery, none of their hair was cooperating and it was evident that they were all a wreck, both inside and out.

Tom stood waiting with the door open to their black chariot.

None of them wanted to get in.

Time stood waiting impatiently, waiting for them to move and get on with their day. Time stopped for no one.

But it felt like it stopped for them.

No one said a word as they climbed in.

They didn't talk much anymore. What exactly could they talk about right now anyway?

XxXxX

As the limo pulled up to the dreaded funeral home Kirsten felt nauseous.

Sweaty.

It would mess up her impeccable make-up. It took forever to get the purple-blue hueish rings around her eyes not so purple and noticeable. Actually it was damn near impossible to cover up and now the sweat was going to ruin her painstaking job.

10:46 a.m.

Her stomach went up into her throat.

Her throat was a cotton ball.

Her heart slammed in her chest and dropped down into her stomach.

The limousine was claustrophobic and slowly closing in on her.

It was too hot.

Way too hot.

The leather has that new Lexus smell, and her stomach churned.

The sweat should have been Ryan's indication that she was having the beginning telltale signs of full-blown panic. But he was looking out the window.

The limo stopped.

She paled.

Kirsten scrambled for the door that Tom wasn't opening and Ryan wasn't getting out of.

She managed to open the door and lean out far enough, before vomiting the bagel and coffee she had managed to stomach for breakfast onto the parking lot.

'_Great,' _Kirsten thought as her stomach revolted and her conscious screamed, _'I don't wanna, I don't wanna, I don't wanna, you can't make ME!' _

Not one part of her body was cooperating with her.

Ryan scooted back into the limo and held back her savvy blond hair as soon as he heard her.

Seth rushed into the funeral home and grabbed some water and paper towels, and a handful of mints as he bolted back out.

Water. Spit.

Wipe face.

Mint.

Ask the dreaded question. "Did I get anything on me?"

Getting a once over and the relieving answer of, "No." And a concerned look.

Sigh. Secretly she wishing she had, then she could delay all of this by going home, changing clothes and reapplying another ton of makeup.

"You okay now?"

She gave him a fleeting incredulous look before closing her eyes and taking it back.

Ryan was her son, not a stranger, he didn't deserve that look.

She sipped her water and leaned back into warm leather Lexus smelling seat. She felt like laughing. She felt like putting her fist through the tinted glass. She doubts she would have felt it anyway. '_Okay? No. No, I'll never be okay. I'll never be all right. I'll never be fine again.' _

The mint crunched in her mouth, swirling between her teeth and her tongue.

She wishes with all her heart she was lying on the couch with Sandy, kissing him, twirling her slender hands within his dark whispy hair. Making love to him until she was exhausted and falling asleep in his arms.

Instead of swirling this mint around in her hot mouth at his funeral.

Wishing.

Seth looked at her with wild brown eyes. Sometimes Sandy would look at her like that if she had told him something incredible, or shocking. Like the time she kissed Jimmy Cooper.

Bam! Wild eyes that night!

Her father was getting out of his limousine, buttoning up his dark suit jacket as he did so.

Tom stood looking around almost nervously.

At least it was cloudy out, the clouds matched her depressed mood.

Caleb straightening the imaginary wrinkle out of his pitch-black suit, while pushing his sunglasses on with his left hand. He looked so secret "servicy" it was sickening. He helped Julie out of the car. Julie is probably the only person in the world who could make a funeral look sexy.

And she did. She looked stunning.

Black tight suit/skirt thing, RED curled hair and cool steel blue eyes. That skirt rode waaaaay up her muscled thighs when she got out of the limousine.

"Kirsten?" Ryan looked at her, and trying not to focus on those purple-bluish rings that were standing out below her eyes. It was hard.

Tick Tock. The funeral director people weren't going to wait all day.

She sucked in her breath, willing the slamming of her heart to stop. Willing her palms to stop sweating.

Monday. 10:53 a.m. Kirsten Cohen's almost nervous breakdown.

She gave him a tight small smile. "Okay."

Her conscious was quick to give her a reprimand. _'Nothing's okay,' _it bitches like a broken record.

Kirsten climbed out of the limo with Ryan's help.

Seth sighed. Tom gives her a small but reassuring smile.

"Tom – I'm so…" but handsomely sweet Tom just shook his blond head and held up his hand.

"It's okay, Kirsten. I understand."

Of course he does.

She nods her head gratefully and Ryan takes her by the elbow, guiding her in to the Doom's Day event.

D-Day. Exact Time. Eleven hundred hours. Purple Monday.

Three Days after RED Friday.

Cha-Ching! The sound of a slot machine somehow enters Ryan's mind.

It's dark and the funeral home director introduces himself. "Jake," he holds out his hand to Ryan and Seth. Gives them the sympathy nod with a sympathy grimace.

Jake, Kirsten and Caleb have already met. They've "Chatted."

Jake leads them into a beautiful room, flowers, pictures, and blankets with Jesus, Mary, along with Shepherds with sheep and Angels on them.

The black and chrome with a blue oak ring closed casket.

It's Seth who sucks his breath in first.

Maybe from the harsh reality that his father is really dead, that he is indeed here to bury him.

Or maybe its just the pictures that jog his memory.

His eyes came to rest upon the picture that was just him and his Dad. Two of them actually. One with Seth as a baby and his father was sleeping, passed out exhaustedly on the couch, a loving arm around little Seth, holding him close to his chest. Protecting him.

The other, gangly, lanky tan Seth and Sandy. Grinning, his Dad had his arm around his shoulder. It was a recent picture and one that Seth doesn't even remember taking it.

It's Kirsten's body that shudders when she sees the large picture of her and Sandy together, holding on to each other like their lives depended on it, the grin on their faces could have lit up a room.

Another one of her handsome husband giving off one of his bashful grins. He was a camera ham when he wanted to be.

Another one of Sandy kissing her on the forehead.

That brings tears to her dark blue eyes.

She stops walking as she and Ryan take in their new surroundings. He can feel her tremble and his arm is around her tightly.

The Christmukkah photo, with all of them.

Julie had the photos blown up and placed around the room. Kirsten knew that.

She had done a good job.

11:04 a.m.

Sandy would've been calling her to see what she wanted for lunch. She would have answered with a smile.

Her eyes roamed over the various pictures and scenes, the Deepest Sympathy Cards that rested on the flowers, and blankets. The room was overflowing with items.

"Mrs. Cohen. This is very overwhelming to us. We have gotten more than we can handle, in cards, flowers, and blankets. I have more in a small room down the hall, it's almost filled." He paused. "There is a line of people that are waiting to get in here Mrs. Cohen," he gave her a small, sad, smile and went around to open the doors.

Kirsten realizes then, she forgot a flask. Tomorrow, when she has to do this all over again, she was going to be buzzed as fuck.

Because she can tell already that trying to do without it is ludicrous.

XxXxX

Julie, Caleb, Marissa, were right behind them.

Caleb did most of the funeral arrangements. At least when he was civil to Sandy, it was in his death.

"Oh," Marissa breathed in softly, not expecting the essence of the room. Looking at all the smiling pictures and then glancing back to the shattered remnants of the family, there was a huge difference.

She took a step closer to her mother, her own body giving away a shudder. It was hard not to walk into this room and not cry. Julie's cool blue eyes watched her daughter warily and she placed a soothing well-manicured hand on her back.

Death does it's own job for everyone and this included smacking Marissa in the face with harsh reality. She thought to herself what might possibly happen if she lost her mother. She didn't want to know.

Marissa did have feelings underneath that Vodka wall of hers.

So last night she found her mother watching a movie on the couch, signing certain papers and she timidly curled up on the couch with her. Julie paused in her paperwork. RED hair and steel blue-gray eyes flashing, ready for the fight that normally comes when Marissa walks or staggers through the room.

Marisa's voice was low but sincere. "I'm sorry for being such a bitch Mom. For everything."

Julie arched a perfect chestnut eyebrow in surprise.

Marissa's green-gold eyes are sincere with apology.

Marissa remembers her mother putting the paperwork on the side and shifting so that Marissa can lay her head in her lap. It was something they used to do – long ago.

She doesn't forget the look on her face.

Julie is forgiving in the way that only a mother can be. "It's okay 'Ris. It will all be okay." Marissa falls asleep to the feeling of contentment and the tender manicured nails running through her silky fine hair.

Mom uses the pet name, it makes her feel more at ease.

She falls asleep feeling safe and possibly on the way to feeling semi "All right."

Marissa and Julie watch Kirsten as she fidgets with the platinum wedding bands that now deem her a widow. Julie's steel blue-gray eyes cast to Seth as he tugs on his tie like Sandy always did. Her eyes sweep to Ryan who remains frozen in place, his face ultimately etched the sorrow and fear that griped him.

Julie read the letter that Dave Harding wrote.

Julie knows why Ryan's face is engraved with the uncertainly that shouldn't grace his seventeen years. He doesn't want to fail Sandy, even in his death.

He doesn't want to fail this family and he doesn't know if he can keep up his end of the bargain.

The only person who could really handle Kirsten is the person who is resting in that ten thousand dollar black and chrome casket.

Ryan's no longer seventeen anymore.

It shows on his face.

He knows he can't handle her by himself.

But he doesn't know who to ask for help.

XxXxX

Kirsten sees sad faces, she sees sorrowful smiles, she feels their heartfelt hugs but she's on auto-pilot. She responds correctly to their "I'm- so- sorry's," and their other pathetic bullshit. Like they care. They saw it on the news. It's no big deal to half of these people. They're here because this is the "event to be at!"

"_It's the lawyer from RED Friday! WE have to GO!" _

She has to live this every day.

_Oh, Kirsten. Oh I'm so sorry. Sandy he was such a good, handsome man, with so many more years to live. You must be devastated._

'_No, I'm happy as a clam!' _Her dark lifeless eyes bore into the hazel ones of this stranger. She gives her the sympathy nod. It's all she can muster besides telling this Hazel-eyed stranger to shut the fuck up and get the hell out.

And they should really bring a bucket in here because she feels like throwing up all over again.

_So, so sorry. _

But she won't.

She's just numb.

And when you're numb you often feel like throwing up.

_Oh God, this is such a tragedy, I'm so sorry Kirsten. _

Hugs, slight tears, and words of sorrow. Mmm, bucket. Let's throw up now. Gulp. Or not. Stranger number ? moves on down the line.

_So sorry, Kirsten._

That's all this is. People she doesn't even know show up, and offer their condolences, like it's a God damned social event and she planned the whole thing.

_Mrs. Cohen, oh this is such a tragedy. Oh I'm so, so sorry for your loss._

Luke's here, Anna too, actually the whole gang is here, Marissa and Summer stand off to the side a little ways, waiting, round number 1 is almost over. 2:39 p.m. Purple Monday.

_Kirsten. Dear. Oh I'm so sorry. _

She's on auto-pilot and doesn't pay attention to who she hugs next.

The voice is soft, and recognizable, the brown eyes are familiar underneath the deep tan and the way he smells shifts her from Auto-Pilot Kirsten to No-Longer-In-Control Kirsten.

The Kirsten that was just waiting to happen. The Kirsten that only Sandy could control.

It's 2:47 p.m. on Purple Monday, when Kirsten finally loses it.

"Hey…" that's all he gets out. A gentle, "Hey." His voice is so soft and comforting. It breaks through that cold "so sorry," wall that's been put up.

The tears fall as she hugs Jimmy. Her sobs are now audible as she clings to his black suit. Her wall begins to shatter and her body can no longer project the false "I'm okay," image that she has been attempting.

Everyone hears this, and turns.

Maybe this will be on the news tonight too.

Her pale shaking hands grasp the black lapels of his jacket, wrapping around the stiff fabric and wrinkling it beyond help. Her knees shake before giving out on her entirely. Her body can no longer support itself as she cries and he wordlessly scoops her up like Sandy has done so many times in the past, while Jake signals to Jimmy to, "bring her this way."

Tears fall onto Jimmy's shoulder like the rain.

Jake saw it on her face as soon as she walked in. He knew this would happen. She had the look. Jake couldn't really describe it, but it was there. It was in her eyes, and the purple –blue tinted dark rings that stood out underneath her lifeless dark eyes no matter how many times she applied makeup. They were there – and they would be there for a long time coming. It was her body language the way she succumbed to the defeat like someone hit her in the stomach. It was simply the way she looked.

Completely lost.

Shattered.

Listless.

It was what Jake liked to call, "The Breakdown Look."

"Jimmy, I miss him so much. I can't do this anymore, I can't do it by myself," everyone hears her saddened, desperate pleas. "I can't do this anymore….I need him Jimmy, oh God… I need…him so much. How could he do this to me? ….I can't….."

His heart breaks for her and he can't get her into the other room fast enough.

If people weren't crying when they came in, they are now.

There is a loud 'whack' in a different direction and Caleb turns to see Ryan punching a wall. Caleb knows the boy just yelled, "Fuck!" in front of hundreds of Newport's elite. He doesn't blame him. The poor kid is feeling like he's failed Sandy already.

He read the letter - he wasn't born yesterday. Ryan and Sanford, your own personal Hero's in a bottle.

Sanford's dead and now Ryan is all that's left.

His daughter is way more than Ryan can handle.

Kirsten is more than even _he_ can handle.

Caleb curses Sandy, now more than ever. Christ, at least when he was alive he could console her, control her, keep her calm and happy. He was her rock.

The family is coming apart, the bare threads that are scantly holding them together are slowly getting cut and there is nothing that anyone can do about it.

Nothing.

XxXxX

Caleb called his doctor and tells him what happened. He told Caleb he would be there in fifteen minutes.

He makes it in ten.

Caleb gives him a hundred bucks extra for making the journey in ten instead of fifteen minutes like promised.

"God it was hell to get in here!" he comments as he rushes by.

Apparently Sandy Cohen's death is much more publicized than anyone realizes.

It's well past three, but no one leaves. More just keep coming and someone has to greet them, so Caleb and Ryan do it.

Seth is kneeling by his mother, holding her hand while she sobs inconsolably. The other hand is still grasped onto Jimmy's jacket and he's holding her in his arms. Seth and Jimmy are talking rapid fire to Kirsten, trying anything to calm her down.

She just sobs those great-big-can't-breathe-gasping sobs. Her makeup is ruined, the purple blue rings are more evident now then ever.

A quick roll of the sleeves, a small pat of the cool alcohol swap followed by a nice little pinprick and the needle goes in smooth.

The drug goes in even smoother and finally Kirsten can rest, or at least catch her breath.

It's scarcely 3:12 p.m. when Kirsten is forced to relax.

Her pulse is thready and it raises an eyebrow of concern from the doctor. He shakes his head sadly, and writes a prescription, handing it to Jimmy. "Make sure she takes these for the next few days. It will help. She needs rest, now."

Jimmy nods and Seth looks up at him with his father's deep eyes of concern.

Jimmy pats his shoulder reassuringly. He's going to get Tom.

It was one hell of a homecoming.

XxXxX

Tom is waiting for them in the back entrance. Jimmy has Kirsten in his arms as he walks to the limo.

The door magically opens from the inside.

"Jules."

"Jimmy."

Kirsten moans.

He climbs in and looks at his ex-gold-digging-wife-who-he-had-been-currently-fucking-when-he-left.

She looks G.O.O.D. So fuckably fresh. It's the hair, that RED, curly hair. And the eyes. Julie has great eyes. Julie has great legs and thighs to match. Julie's eyes and thighs, an irresistible mixture.

He can hear Sandy yell somewhere, _"Nice job Jimbo! But Kirsten comes first!"_

He shakes his head. Kirsten was always first. Julie looks at him, her steely blues met Jimmy's hazel browns with fire.

They both turn and look out the window.

XxXxX

It's 8:52 p.m. when Caleb, Ryan, Seth, Marissa, Anna, Luke, and Summer finally stagger through the Cohen household.

Ryan, Seth, and Caleb had to stay and "Greet."

Marissa, Summer, Anna and Luke were good sports and supported their friends.

People started through the doors at eleven in the morning and they didn't stop until eight fucking thirty at night, until Caleb called the cops and the funeral home closed up shop for the night.

People are relentless when they are in mass groups.

The Nana would be arriving soon.

Seth groaned at the thought. With no father, the Nana would be unsupervised and have free reign. He only hoped her reign wouldn't go so far as to insult his mother.

Or else he and the Nana would be sharing some choice words.

He told longhaired Luke and the gang to go into the living room, and start up the Playstation, he was going to check on his Mom.

Ryan followed silently, like a brooding puppy.

Jimmy walked out of Seth's room.

Jimmy must have seen the questions on Seth's face. "She didn't want to be on the couch and she refuses to sleep in the master bedroom."

Seth noticed Jimmy didn't say, THEIR bedroom, or Kirsten's bedroom, or Sandy's bedroom. He didn't call it his Mom's bedroom or his Dad's bedroom, it was now dubbed "The Master Bedroom."

Seth and Ryan thanked him before ducking into Seth's room.

XxXxX

The doorbell rings. Summer gets up from watching Luke and Anna chop ninja's and answers it.

The Nana appears at the doorway looking weary.

It's evident she has been crying.

"Shalom, Nana," Summer tries to ease the tension.

"Hello Summer-Dear." She steps in the room and drops her suitcase by the door. "Where's Kirsten?"

Summer becomes uptight and hesitates.

"Kirsten isn't doing so well, Nana."

The Nana raises an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

Summer sighs and does the little kid pose when they have to pee, bending her knees and bouncing up and down a little.

She looked so cute.

"She had a major breakdown when Jimmy Cooper hugged her."

The Nana did an almost sigh and then caught herself, warning bells ringing inside her head. "The Kirsten had a major breakdown?"

Summer gave her a look that stated, _'Duh!' _

The Nana didn't hesitate.

The Nana takes the steps up two at a time pausing as she came to the top, ragged and out of breath, listening as she heard the voices coming from Seth's bedroom.

Both Seth and Ryan were talking to her, begging her if they could do anything. She couldn't answer them.

The Nana opened the door to find Seth and Ryan, kneeling by a tear stained Kirsten. She didn't even raise her head. Her eyes didn't move from looking out the window.

The boys rose and gave her a small smile and left the room.

Kirsten was curled up on her side facing the window, knee's halfway bent up to her chest, an arm tucked under her and an arm around her stomach. Her cheeks were wet with the tears that silently flooded them. They wouldn't stop, not until she cried herself into exhaustion.

The Nana eased her creaking body down to a kneeling position, looking into the drowsy and weary depths of Kirsten Cohen's blue unresponsive eyes. Her eyes are completely lifeless.

"What are you thinking?"

No, "Hello," no, "Hey how's it going?" no, "Are you doing all right?" The Nana knows those answers. She stares at Kirsten with the patience of Sandy, and finally Kirsten looks back. Finally there is a slight spark as her pupils dilate as she blinks a few times and tries to focus.

She gives a half smirk, half small, "I-can't-believe-you-asked-me-that," laugh.

She sighs shakily. "What am I thinking?" her voice is hoarse and thick, it doesn't matter how many times she clears her throat it won't go away.

The Nana waits patiently, and looks at the small river of tears that flow endlessly from her pools of deep unrelenting, dull blue eyes.

"I'm thinking that…. I don't see myself in ….this world without ….him. I'm thinking of that….stupid….time in…. Berkeley…. When he made…. that promise. I'm thinking…. that I love…. him so much ….that I don't…. know what to…. do with…. myself, that I don't… want to go on…anymore. And …it's not fair…. to Ryan and Seth…." Her voice ranges with the sniffs, the choking sobs, and the tears.

"It's not fair," she whispers.

The Nana rises from her spot on the floor as Kirsten curls into a ball and lets her tears fall freely, not bothering to wipe them away, re-staining the pillow. Her body is shuddering and shivering out of her control and the sobs that wrack the frail frame are simply heartbreaking.

She reaches over and smoothes the blond hair away from her flushed tearstained face.

She's a wreck and she needs to sleep.

The Nana says nothing as she leaves the room and calls, "Sethela."

He wasn't very far away, actually at the bottom of the stairs.

She requests that he get her four things.

1. "Tylenol PM and a glass of water."

2. "Something comfortable for her to wear."

3. "Jimmy."

4. "A Bagel."

He returns hastily with her requests, which include a whole bottle of Tylenol PM, and his mother's pale blue pajamas.

And Jimmy. Jimmy is standing there looking haggard, it's evident that he doesn't know what to think, but Seth can tell he misses his father. After all, it's Sandy that didn't let Jimmy founder.

They walk in Seth's room and close the door behind them.

Jimmy and the Nana help Kirsten out of her funeral clothes. Jimmy and the Nana make sure she takes those Tylenol PM's and swallows them. Jimmy and the Nana, kneel in front of her, and force her to eat the bagel. Jimmy and the Nana talk quietly to her, their voices are soft and calm, and they are forcing her to listen to their voices and not the ones in her head.

Jimmy rubs her back soothingly and they stay with her until she closes her sad, weary eyes and they make sure she has fallen asleep.

Wordlessly Jimmy departs and walks downstairs to join the kids in what hopefully might lift his heavy heart in game of Ninjas.

Its 12:11 a.m. Tuesday morning, in a house that is completely full but is more desolate then it has ever been.

The worst has yet to come.

Only then does the Nana slip back into Seth's room and kneels down in front of her exhausted sleeping form.

She has easily lost ten pounds since the day Sandy died.

Easily.

Even in the dark, the bluish purple rings stand out underneath her eyes blatantly.

She gives her a sad smile in the dark, "My boy loved you so. There wasn't a day that went by when he didn't tell me. You my dear, were his world, and it's obvious that he was yours."

She slowly rises, the bones in her knees cracking and she pulls the comforter up tighter around Kirsten before pushing another stubborn blond strand away from her restless face.

She thinks that she sees her smile slightly. Maybe just a little.

Despite the small grudge she has always held against the beautiful woman she can't help but pray for her.

The old Kirsten that she was used too, the one with piss, fire and vinegar is gone. She is three sheets to the wind somewhere, but not in this world.

She closes the door softly and shuts her eyes, sending out a small prayer to whoever will listen, that they help Kirsten, that they give her the will to live and the strength to survive.

Because if they don't, she is surely on a path that has only one ending.

Because for Kirsten, time truly ended on Friday.


	3. D

"_You were my constant, my touchstone."_

"_And you are mine."_

_-Agents Fox Mulder & Dana Scully, The X-Files. _

XxX

_Amor Vincit Omnia – Love conquers all things. _

XxX

There shall be no lurkers.Its my new motto. NONE.

YOU guys are so awesome. Yes, there will be a 4th. Really. Please, you all must review, again. Please.

You know you love it. YOU guys make my day.

I know you're lurking out there.

I see you. Yeah, yeah you. Ya bum. Lol.

**Get on the bandwagon, join the review club. **

XxXxX

"_I'll love you forever… you know that right?" Teasing blue eyes danced in the dark as they waited for her response. _

"_Forever? Forever is a long time," she remembers smiling at him, her voice gentle and tender, knowing that deep down, she'll love him forever too. _

"_It's not long enough. Forever isn't long enough when I'm with you," he insisted. "I love you so much, Kirsten. I'm never leaving you. Never." He kisses her temple gently, his embrace secure and safe. _

"_Promise?" her voice breaks and she doesn't know why. _

"_With all my heart," he grins lazily at her before kissing her. _

XxXxX

'_Forever.' _

'_I'll never leave you.' _

'_Never.'_

Stop. Rewind. Play.

'_Forever.'_

'_I'll never leave you. Never.' _

'_I love you.'_

'_Forever.'_

Stop. Rewind. Play.

'_Forever….' _

Steam rolls off in great curtains of her drowsy, aching body. It's barely 7 in the morning, 7:02, a.m. if you want to be technical.

Tumbleweed Tuesday.

One hundred eleven hours and forty-two minutes since the RED Friday phone call.

One hundred eleven hours and forty-two minutes with twenty-two ridiculously long seconds since her world was ripped up from underneath her and she was dumped on her ass.

Hard.

Time's not getting any shorter.

'_I love you, forever.'_

She just couldn't sleep anymore. So she decides to take a shower. But she didn't bother standing, she just eased her somber body down and pulled her knees up to her chest. She put the hot water up as high as she could stand it.

Tylenol PM's didn't last forever.

'_Nothing. Lasts. Forever,' _her conscious is trying to be kind, but even it's tired and worn out and it is only Tuesday.

Then it paused, as if thinking about it's own thoughts…'_Love, lasts forever.' _

Her heart pounded slightly, as if agreeing.

When she had awoken at 6:38 in the morning she was disoriented, she didn't remember getting into Seth's bedroom, actually she didn't remember much. Monday, like the past few days, has turned into another big blur. Another day to mark on the calendar as finally passed. Another day to grimace and groan and pretend to enjoy living like she used too.

Another day without him.

It took her about twelve minutes to actually roll out of bed and stand up like the living.

She thought she would just throw a robe on and go downstairs, until she looked in the mirror. Her normally perfect blond hair was messy and greasy, her eyes have a hollow, desperate look. She looks like she hasn't slept in years, even though that's untrue.

To a point.

Her sleep isn't sleep anymore it's anything but relaxing. Constant memories, constant dreams, constant little sayings, it all swims through her thoughts at a spitfire pace that would make a thoroughbred pant.

Every fight, every kiss, every "I love you," every harsh thing they ever said to each other rattles her uncompromising, unyielding thoughts. Sandy used to say that they were meant to be, that he was made to love her.

"_Honey, we're soulmates, face it. I was made to love you."_

His little sayings keep her awake at night.

The raccoon rings are still there, still being defiant. Still purple, but today they seem to have taken to a darker bluish hue.

Depressing, more so.

At least she would have the, "Grieving widow's look," down to a tee.

She looks down at her platinum wedding bands. Even the diamonds shine is cheerless.

Or maybe it's just her.

Her body feels oily from being so nervous and sweaty because of Monday's events. Her head has the dull-I-slept-too-long thump to it. Her skin is sallow and pale, and she grimaces at the sight of herself.

"Walking Zombie," actually has a meaning. It's Kirsten Cohen.

That's when she decided to take a shower and join the real world. Showers had a tedious way of making things, "Okay," again. Just a little.

Sort of.

Nothing would ever actually be, "Okay."

Her glass shower is covered in steam and when she moves her arm from underneath the spray she can see little wispy clouds rising from the heated flesh. Her off-color ivory skin was painted and dappled pink from the scalding spray.

Her chin graces her knees before resting, as the steamy water continues it's daring trail down her back.

Sandy. Seth. Ryan.

Ryan. Seth. Sandy.

Seth.

Ryan.

Sandy.

They were her boys, her life. Everything revolved around these three human beings.

Now, one was gone.

She shuddered involuntarily.

She was being selfish, and she knew it.

She lost her husband, her best friend, her partner.

Seth and Ryan had lost a father, a mentor and in their eyes, a hero.

Devastation takes kindly to no one.

Sitting on the floor, in a steaming shower, Kirsten Cohen feels as cold as ice.

She sighs.

Glances at the chilly platinum bands on her left that shine gloomily as if solemnly awaiting his return.

Her hand goes to her chest where his wedding band now hangs from a solid gold chain. It feels heavy against the rise and fall of her chest, as if her body knows it belongs elsewhere.

She knows only one thing at this point and time.

_She _cannot afford to be weak, anymore. She cannot be afforded the luxury of sobbing every second even though that's all she wants to do. At least in front of them. When she's alone, well that's another story.

Booze, tears and drugs will help her overcome that bridge when she comes to it. Which will probably be Thursday and Friday and the rest of the week.

It was hard enough raising two teens with two parents. 2 x 2 - One for you, one for me.

Now one of the numbers was odd.

1 x 2.

And no, it does not make 3 - it makes it unfair, unkind, and most of all – fucked.

She sighs again.

Stop. Rewind. Play.

'_I love you.'_

XxXxX

Hate is such a strong, passionate angry word.

But that's the only word that could honestly say how Ryan felt.

He hated Sandy. He hates him and he loves him.

He loves him for everything he was, for the opportunity of a lifetime to join this family, to have a family, to actually know what love is.

If he was in Chino he would have undoubtedly read the papers, or watched the news while dodging a fist from Dawn's latest and greatest.

He wasn't dodging a fist by any means, but he was dodging things that couldn't be dodged, like time, memories, and anger.

Love.

'_Fucking Sandy.'_

He hates him for leaving.

For leaving the burden upon him that he isn't sure if he can hold up his end of the bargain.

A burden that could bring anyone to their knees if given enough time.

A burden of _what ifs? _

What if he couldn't handle Kirsten and her drinking? What if things got too far out of control? What if she became so tragically depressed that no one knew what to do?

_Take care of my girl for me. _

What if he couldn't ? What if he isn't everything Sandy thinks that he is?

He groans and rolls over in his bed, wishing for the solitude that the newly recently re-occupied pool house offers.

Seth was rejoicing in the comfort of friends and his girlfriend last night and while Ryan enjoyed all of his compadres affection and the friendships that he had lost, he needed time on his own. He and Seth varied there. Ryan enjoyed the solitude of being alone - Seth needed people, he needed the energy of his friends.

Ryan needed time to think.

_I love you. _

Time to remember.

Some "Me," time.

As if he hadn't had that enough already.

The empty silence throughout the house and the tension that laid deep within everyone's slump of shoulders or vacant, desolate gaze shown exactly how much quality, "Me!" time everyone had.

But that was it. He was so worried about Kirsten, about Seth, about the funeral, about the press, he realized he hadn't had any time to properly think about Sandy.

He realized he was working on Shock, Sugar, the pitiful, "I'm sorry – Thank You's," and nothing more.

Things never used to be this complicated.

_Take care of my girl for me. I love you. _

But then again, things like this weren't supposed to happen.

7:18 a.m. Tumbleweed Tuesday.

He rolled over and glared at his clock. Since attempting sleep in the wee hours of the morning – he hadn't succeeded in his mission. He listened as Seth and Summer snuck in room and tried to be quiet. He pretended to be sleeping. He listened as Seth babbled softly to Summer and listened as she offered her words of comfort and thoughts, including a few "Ass's!"

But Ryan was meddling and sleep didn't come easy for those who wrestled with time.

XxXxX

She wandered out of her own bathroom, entering the dismal room that she had darted in without looking around. The room that used to be a shelter and haven.

Now it was empty.

Cold.

Desolate.

His swimming trunks are hanging off the back of the doorknob just waiting for him to come home and go surfing. The book he had been reading was sitting there on the nightstand waiting for him. He had tossed his Berkeley sweatshirt on the floor haphazardly in the corner, and it was waiting for him.

Waiting for him to come pick them up. Waiting for his life to continue.

In truth, there were times that she even forgot – and she was still waiting for him to walk through that door too.

XxXxX

Handsome Tom opened the door to their limo.

Tom had met the wonderfully charming Sophie "The Nana" Cohen. He grimaced when she bitched that his shoe was untied and that she says this huge black stretch was "so unnecessary! And another way to show off!" She had one of the guest bedrooms, and the mothers' grieving attitude – which to certain strangers made her even more intolerable.

And then more recent guests. Anna, Luke, and Jimmy.

Anna had taken the last guest bedroom, Luke had stolen the couch. Ryan had fallen asleep in his bedroom while Seth and Summer bunked at the bottom on the air mattress.

Tom didn't know where Jimmy had spent the night – but he had a good idea.

Wonderful puppy-dog eyed Jimmy, who magically seemed to simply disappear last night like Houdini, Bam, after he lost three rounds of Ninja's to Luke and his cell phone sang a jingle.

A brand new, shiny, RED V8 mustang GT was rumbling patiently at the end of a driveway, with a woman who had the RED hair and lips to match.

A 2005 RED Mustang GT was hot by itself.

Throw in Julie Cooper-Nichol with those wicked blue eyes and it was considered the two U's.

Ultimately Undeniable.

Young Marissa Cooper had been left Momma's bright shiny black Benz convertible. The only reason if Mr. Nichol was on the prowl looking for Julie he would assume she was here.

Cool hands and quick-to-speak Julie insisted that Marissa's Stang' was to be taken into the shop the following day for an oil change and "things of that nature," and that she would do it, Marissa was too engrossed in watching Seth slice up Anna to care. She merely said with a roll of her amber-greens, "Whatever," and a small I-don't-care-wave. But she turned her head enough and gave a soft smile to her mom.

Chestnut eyebrow raising Julie understands – at home things were fine – around people it's a universal act to hate your parents.

As long as she had a way of getting home, Marissa doesn't care what she drives. "As long as it's not a beater." Summer smirks at that comment.

"Who the hell in Newport Beach even owns a beater Coop?"

She shrugs absentmindedly. Lindsay's clunker must be out of everyone's mind.

Julie nods.

She and Jimmy had "serious issue's" to discuss. In a hot red mustang.

Alone.

Uh huh.

Shaken from his reverie of the previous nights broken conversations, Tom watched as Kirsten slowly walked down the steps from the huge mansion. He wished that he could have known her before this. From the stories he's heard from Jimmy, and the kids - she was quite the woman.

Or had been, quite the woman.

Even her sunglasses couldn't hide those dark bluish rings.

XxXxX

Pulling up the funeral home is shocking. It's no longer a funeral home it's the press's field day. There are physical gates kept up so the family can get through. There are lines and lines of people waiting to get in.

Reporters with camera crews flocking around like wild birds.

It's more like a movie premier than a showing.

Kirsten is the last one out of the limo. She feels numb again, but her body and mind is at relative ease. Maybe because she took that sedative with a few shots of vodka earlier – when no one was looking.

"Mrs. Cohen! Over here!"

Flash, Flash!

"Mrs. Cohen! Did you see how your husband was shot?"

Flash!

"Mrs. Cohen, this way, how are you dealing with this crisis?"

Flash, flash, flash!

"Mrs. Cohen, what are your thoughts on John Riggotti?"

A huge NO COMMENT sign should be hung from her neck.

Tom escorts Kirsten in silently, her head down looking at the floor, his well-trained hand on her back, leading her into the funeral home.

She's ignoring them and doing a F-I-N-E job of it.

She joins the line and waits, sucking in her breath. Tom stands off away from her, but behind her should anyone try any funny business.

She feels wonderfully numb.

Seth, Kirsten, Ryan, Caleb, The Nana is the order this time.

It's like letting the flood gates open as people stream in with the proper grief mask, the proper colored clothing, the proper sunglasses, and yet the utmost curiosity. They look at everything, they whisper to each other, glancing back at Kirsten, the boys, they're all here to see another breakdown.

Nothing else.

Most of their voices are anything but silent and Tom escorts a few of them out before things even begins.

Mr. Blue eyes walks up to her, shakes her hand, beside her Seth is hugging the hazel eyed, brown haired stranger with nice teeth. Ryan is wrestling with a blond, Caleb is nodding to an elderly gray haired woman and Sophie Cohen is staring daggers at the fake blond with her brown roots showing, telling her about her son and how, "Oh my God, he was just like so fab!" California smile, California tan, and the perfect California attitude that The Nana hates.

Fab. Ha.

Sandy Cohen you've turned into FAB!

Mad props to you!

The strangers move down the line, which seems never ending.

Stranger number fifty-five is up.

"Mrs. Cohen," she begins, the woman's brown eyes soft and compassionate, her voice sincerely sympathetic, and its her voice that Kirsten draws her weary dark eyes up too.

The fair olive skinned woman passed up Seth and went straight to her. Seth is staring quizzingly at the boy who is the same age as him. His face looks oddly familiar, the features softened of someone that Kirsten thought she knew from a memory somewhere. Seth knows him. Ryan is staring too, a look of pure puzzlement appearing across his delicate features.

Either he doesn't know who he is or he is stunned that he is here.

"Mrs. Cohen, I'm so sorry about what my husband did to you and your family. I apologize with my all my heart but yet I know that it is not enough," her accent was slightly Spanish with a touch of elegance and yet a harmony that Kirsten did not understand.

This woman had gallantry and bravery well beyond her years.

Her dark blue eyes narrowed despite herself and there was a flicker of hatred that coursed through her now shaking body.

_Husband. Riggotti. Mrs. John Riggotti. _

John Riggotti, the third.

The man who killed Sandy. The man who shot her husband in cold blood in front of a judge, several police officers, security guards and civilians.

The man who made RED Friday exist.

The man, who was now going to spend the next year on death row, before being one of the first men to be executed in California by the death penalty in years.

The man who was going to die – rather then spend the six months in jail that Sandy had managed to plead him down too. Six months and a misdemeanor crime.

His young son was standing in front of her, a superior mix of his father and his mother, handsome and regal, yet filled with soft shy features. Intelligence wavered in his eyes along with sympathy and sorrow.

He was innocent and was in the same boat as Seth and Ryan.

A young kid, same age as Ryan and Seth.

Yet the hate in Kirsten could only see the killer lineage from him.

This was John Riggotti, the fourth.

Did he too carry the infuriated hostility gene that his father absurdly had? Would John Riggotti the fourth take the life of someone else as easy as his father had?

If someone were to cut him off in traffic would he pull a gun on the innocent soul and shoot them in a blind road rage? Could that person who cut him off be Ryan or Seth and would yet another John Riggotti take someone from her life in an instant?

Flip her world upside down again?

Kirsten gave a sickly half smile and licked her dry lips, gritting her teeth. Her pale features flushed with a heated maddening pink and her eyes flashed in feverish recognition at the family.

"Mrs. Cohen, I have not come here for sympathy from you. I have not come for forgiveness. I have just come to express my sincere condolences. I am deeply sorry and ashamed for what my husband has done."

Kirsten swallowed the enraged lump in her throat.

She took a step forward, raising an eyebrow of concern from Ryan and a questionable look from Seth.

Tom rocked on his heels knowing there was a motive for her bold move.

She was hugging their father's killer's wife? Her husband's killer's wife?

The press would kill for a photo of this.

She embraced the woman that she only knew as Mrs. Riggotti. She didn't know her first name, she didn't know where she lived offhand, she didn't even know if she had more children.

She didn't care.

She whispered so venomously, so softly in a tempered tone that only Mrs. Riggotti heard. Her flinch was visible to everyone upon hearing the icy wrath spoken softly.

"I hate your husband so much. You will _never_ know what it's like to lose someone the way that we all have. You get to let go, slowly over time. You get to say goodbye."

She swallowed, her body tense and rigid, quivering.

"Do you know there are days that I don't even know if I can go on, _that I don't even want too!_? Your husband doesn't deserve the death penalty. He deserves to be shot out of the blue, in a courtroom, by the person he was defending and left to lay there bleeding on the floor. He deserves to tell someone to write a letter to you while withering in pain because he _KNEW _he wasn't going to make it. I was married to a _good_ man. I feel almost sorry for whose last name you share," she raised her voice a little, letting the fake sympathy ooze out of it, "but thank you so much for your concern and sympathy in our time of loss."

She took another step towards her whispering again quietly but audible to others, "I pray to God that your son is nothing like his father, and I feel sorry for you if he is."

Kirsten's ice cold wrath grasped the other woman as they locked eyes. For the first time in four days Kirsten eyes were alight with color that isn't drug or alcohol induced.

Her ferocious blue met with the sorrowful and sincere, sadly understanding brown.

If the conversation had been anything but private many people would question it. Was Kirsten Cohen really losing it? Some would've taken her side and understand. Other's would call it a threat. Some would say it was a nice gesture that Vera Riggotti had shown up and offered condolences. Some might have said Kirsten was out of line. Some might have said Vera was out of line showing up like she did.

Some, might have been speechless.

But Kirsten Cohen is a family woman, and when something happened to her family – when someone else had ripped her family apart, a side of her that stays hidden – rears it's vehemency and does what is has to do.

Kirsten would hate John Riggotti the third until the day she dies. And Vera Riggotti can understand because if there had been a chance, should the circumstances have been reversed, she knows in her heart that she would have felt the exact same way.

But it isn't and her husband will be put to death and she can still say her good-byes.

Kirsten makes her look away and they both know the conversation is over. Vera watches with sad lingering eyes as the body of Kirsten Cohen shakes with rage and infuriation.

She watches as she twists the platinum rings around her hand.

Bands that once said, "I'm married."

Now they say, "I'm a widow."

Vera nods and bites her bottom lip before offering one last soft, empathetic smile and slowly walked away.

The young John Riggotti, the one that still had hope, still had a martial of innocence left to him swallowed nervously before surprising Kirsten and hugging her.

His voice was unsteady when he told her he was sorry. His hazel eyes held truth and heartfelt, unfeigned sorrow. In a hushed but unflinching voice he whispered while looking at her, "I promise you, I'll never be like _him._"

Kirsten realizes that he too, hates who his father has become.

His future is forever questionable, as he is known as the RED Friday killer's son.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, some say.

Kirsten nods and gives her first real smile, although soft and tight, to John Riggotti the fourth. "Keep the promise."

Her tone is still icy.

She holds his gaze until he too looks away, the emotion playing upon her face is too much for either Vera or John the fourth to look at anymore.

Kirsten's fiery blue eyes cloud over, the fog returning the colorless ashen color returns to dull her pink and flushed cheeks.

The line moves on.

The strangers keep coming.

The "I'm so sorry's," continue.

It's 1:12 p.m. Tumbleweed Tuesday. Four days after.

It feels like forever.

XxXxX

Tom escorts the family out, one by one into the limousine where the police wait around to keep the leeches that consider themselves people away.

The ride home was quiet, which is all it seemed to be like anymore. Everyone stares out the window as Newport zoomed by.

Home.

Which doesn't feel like home anymore.

She glances at her son, knowing he hasn't rambled to her since Friday.

She glances at Ryan, and can tell he hasn't been sleeping.

She hates sleeping alone. Especially in that bed.

She sweeps her dark blue eyes to Sophie and knows that it hasn't properly hit her yet, she might cry but she hasn't properly grieved. It shows on her pale face.

Her cancer was in remission for the time being.

But who knew for how long now.

After all, it was Sandy who helped convinced her to go in the first place.

XxXxX

Seth looks at his mother staring out the window, sunglasses high upon her face to hide the raccoon rings that she tried to hide with miserably with makeup.

He can't help but think how much she has changed. How much they have all changed. God bless Summer and the gang, for trying to take his mind off of everything.

Finally arriving at home he watches his Mom open the door before Tom can get there and watches as she climbs the steps into the house, taking her shoes off at the same time. She is on a mission for something.

He frowns at Ryan who shrugs his shoulders and walks into the house. Seth squints into the cloudy sky that was trying to let sun through its fluffy gray depths.

He sighs before following suit.

Tumbleweed Tuesday draws closer and closer to a close. 6:04 p.m.

XxXxX

Kirsten manages grab the bottle of vodka and takes it into the bedroom that she and Sandy shared. She needs to change her clothes.

Some sort of painkiller thing that Julie had smuggled over and a few shots of vodka and she would be as right as rain.

Until it wore off.

She can't help but glance around the room, where nearly a week ago Sandy was fighting with her. Wednesday. Two days before he left her - they had a fight.

She shakes her head and takes a long swig from the bottle, drinking until it burns and makes her gag.

"_Sandy. No. I just don't like this!" _

_He rolled his eyes at her, running a hand through his longer hair, pausing at the graying temples to rub the pressure away. _

"_Honey. Friday, it will be over, and hopefully the judge will dismiss the case."_

_She stared at him blankly. "Sandy, he threatened your life!" _

_He smirked at her and waved her off, "No, he didn't. He was just very thorough with how he wanted things to go." _

_She rose from sitting at the foot of the bed to meet him face to face. Dark blue meeting blue-green eyes, an unfaltering fire in both pairs. _

"'_You had better pray I don't land in jail,' is a threat to me Sandy. Why did you take his case anyway, you know the Riggotti's are major drug lords." _

'_You know they're dangerous,' her unspoken words haunt him. _

_He sighed. He couldn't tell her the truth. He couldn't tell her that John Riggotti's case was hopeless from the start and there was no way that he could ever hope a judge to dismiss it. There was no way he could tell her that Riggotti came to him and threatened his family's life if he didn't help him out. _

"_I told you, Kirsten! I had to help a friend…" _

_She clenched her jaw, his cloudy blue eyes roaming over her beautiful face and watched the muscle twitch in pure frustration. _

_She sighed and turned away from him, angered beyond the point of pissed off. "You ALWAYS have to help someone out! When is it going to be enough? You can't mess with these people Sandy! Endangering our family isn't enough? Do we not…" _

"_BECAUSE IF I DON'T DO IT – THEN SOMETHING **WILL** HAPPEN KIRSTEN!" He hung his head, defeated. He might as well give her an inkling of what may come. What might have happened if he hadn't taken the case in the first place. _

_He turned away. He couldn't let see her the doubt upon his face. _

_The fact that it might not be okay. _

_Because that's what he did – he made things okay. _

_She paused, stunned, looking at his back like a deer caught in the headlights. _

_Her beautiful features pale by the minute. _

_Then she understands. _

"_Sandy… No….You have to go to the police!" _

_He turned on his heel, spinning so quickly he surprised her. _

"_I can't. You just said it yourself, you can't mess with these people." _

"_Sandy, we have money…." He could see the worry on her face, watching as idea's swam through her head, anything, anything to help him. _

_He laughed. "So do they, Kirsten." _

_The simple truth. _

"_Then what are we going to do?" _

"_Nothing. WE are going to do nothing. You already know too much for your own good. Friday, I'M going to plead my whole life away and pray that I'm a good enough lawyer to get him off and it will go away. It'll go away," he mumbled, trying to convince himself. _

_Suddenly his problem became hers too. More so than he ever wanted to involve her. _

"_Sandy, no, I don't…" But he cut her off by kissing her. _

"_I don't want to talk anymore baby. Not about this...Do you know how much I love you?" _

_She looks into his tired eyes. _

_She smiles lightly, knowing that he's doing the best he can. "Maybe, just a little."_

_Only Sandy, always trying to make everything okay. _

_She plays his game, letting it drop for now. _

_He kisses her shoulder and she can feel his lips move up on her neckline, making her shiver. _

_Distracting her. _

"_I'll love you forever… you know that right?" Teasing blue eyes danced in the dark as they waited for her response. _

"_Forever? Forever is a long time." _

"_It's not long enough. Forever isn't long enough when I'm with you," he insisted. "I love you so much, Kirsten. I'm never leaving you. Never." He kisses her temple gently, his embrace secure and safe. _

"_Promise?" her voice breaks and she doesn't know why. She never wants him to leave. _

"_With all my heart," he grins lazily at her before kissing her._

"So you going to stand in the middle of the room all day with that open bottle or are you going to give me a hug?"

Kirsten smirks and turned around, the relief evident on her face.

She sits the bottle down, and somehow manages to walk over to her sister.

"Hey Hailey," her voice breaks as she hugs her tightly.

Her sister closes the gap, her arms opened as she embraces her sister as the tears begin to fall for the both of them.

Time stops once more for Kirsten that night.

XxXxX

Luke, Anna, Seth, Ryan, Summer and Marissa are sitting in the Cohen living room, bored.

"Cohen, dude, let's go out!" Luke looks enthusiastic about getting out of the house.

It just wasn't right without Mr. Cohen here.

Seth's face lit up. God he needed to get out of this fucking house. The -I'm-so-sorry's were running through his head right now.

"Yeah. Where?"

"There is a new club in L.A…"

"Mom won't say yes to that. God she had a conniption when we tried it with Dad," Seth winced as the memory was brought up.

He paused, before looking over the back of the couch.

Fuck it.

"Tom, would you drive us to L.A?"

Tom knew he shouldn't. He knew that he should say.

N.

O.

W.

A.

Y.

A RED flag should have shot up – something, anything.

But Tom looked at their faces, finally, for a brief second there was something other than depression, other than the gloom and the "I'm sorry's."

For a second they looked like teenagers again.

So good ol' handsome blond Tom, said. "Fine. But tell Kirsten we're just going cruising."

Kirsten. Tom called his Mom, Kirsten.

Seth nodded and even Ryan smiled as he followed Seth.

XxXxX

Tom warned them.

"A few drinks. That's it."

A few drinks turned into more drinks. More drinks turned into even more drinks.

More drinks turned them into shitfaced.

Giddy even.

Alcohol and death.

Bring on the shots.

Yeah baby!

Sweaty bodies, smoke, and loud distracting music is definitely what they needed. There was only so many "I'm so fucking sorry's," that Seth and Ryan could take.

And alcohol. We can't forget the alcohol, and lots of it. They needed more alcohol actually.

Whether the club bartender recognized Seth or not, he didn't have to pay for his drinks.

Which was odd, but Seth shrugged it off.

Another, "Fuck it," of the night.

Until they all heard the noise, the sound of a crowd "oohing" and "aweing."

Something was on fire over there.

Flaming Dr. Peppers normally caused such a sight that deemed the proper aweings.

This caused the group to look over. John Riggotti the fourth gave them a small courteous wave before walking over to them.

He reeked of rich, drug-money, arrogance.

Summer whined slurringly and Seth went up to the bar for more booze.

Tom watched over them carefully. His hawk eye never let any of them out of his sight.

"Your drinks are on me," Southern Spanish sounding John gave them a nod and a tight smile. "It's the least I can do." He didn't have to add that the whole reason they were all drinking was because of John Riggotti the third.

Daddy Riggotti.

Ryan tipped his shot to him.

Drug lord killer Riggotti.

Gulped it down.

'_Fucker. Least you could do.' _For some reason John Riggotti the fourth didn't give Ryan a good vibe.

He had to use the restroom and began to walk towards it, finding it completely filled, he couldn't wait and used the backdoor outside.

Apparently John couldn't wait either because he went on the other side of the dumpster to do the same.

Finishing the boys found themselves in an awkward silence until Johnny boy junior IV offered Ryan a smoke, which he gratefully took.

Mmm, the nicotine that was rushing through his body filled with alcohol. Increasing the buzz.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry about your Dad you know? That shits rough."

Ryan inhaled and nodded. He didn't give a shit if Johnny boy had just called Sandy his Dad.

He was tired of the sorry's.

"Thanks."

What else could he say? It was almost an automated response now.

_Sorry._

_Thank you._

_So sorry Ryan._

_Thank you._

"I wish my Dad wouldn't have done that. I wish he wouldn't have threatened him to make him take his case either."

Ryan's hardened blue eyes met John's in a fiery Kirsten-like blaze.

"Oh yeah?"

John exhaled and nodded. Smoke puffed around him, creating a halo like cloud. He looked at Ryan menacingly.

_The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist. _

"Just cause you know, the rumors, my Dad's a drug lord yaddy yadda, no one would take it. So he had to. You know?" He inhaled.

No, Ryan didn't know.

Ryan smirked, his heart pounding in his chest, the nicotine rushing through his already shitfaced system.

"But your father killed Sandy. In court. And now he's going to die."

John laughed. Physically laughed.

He was laughing about Sandy.

Nobody pulls an "I'm-sorry," and then laughs about the person you're sorry about.

No-fucking-one.

Especially laugh about Sandy?

No way.

"My Dad will be out in a year. Nothing will happen to him." The promise that the kid whispered to Kirsten that Ryan had overheard had left.

He was a Riggotti, through and through.

Blood is thicker than water. Blood boils faster too.

_The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. _

Ryan doesn't remember much.

_How do you shoot the devil in the back? What if you miss? _

Ryan knows. Because you don't shoot the devil. You punch him.

He doesn't even remember punching the Riggotti kid in the side of his skull. He doesn't remember beating him until he is unconscious. He doesn't remember punching him well after he lost consciousness.

He doesn't remember Seth and Tom pulling him off of him, Ryan still struggling with all his might to hit him.

He does remember watching Tom take his pulse. He remembers the look on Tom and Seth's faces.

The shock, the pure horror on Seth's drunken childlike face.

Tom's face he couldn't read. It was blank.

"Ryan…he's dead."

He remembers watching Tom wiping away any fingerprints. He remembers Tom taking care of all of that. Tom knows how to make it look like an accident and cover it up.

"He was talking shit on Sandy. He was…" he mumbled softly – so they might understand why he did it.

Tom takes care of everything that night – which is all Ryan, remembers, including cleaning the blood off of his hand and icing it.

Tom knows.

Someone said something like, "Revenge is a dish best served cold."

Ryan doesn't remember saying that.

But he did.

He can only think clearly about Kirsten.

And Sandy.

And how there is no one to save him now.

And how that Riggotti kid got what he deserved.

XxXxX

Kirsten had changed her clothes before she and Hailey went to walk along the beaches, the blazing sun had set long ago and now the dark water lapped at their feet, setting the mood.

The water glistened in the moonlight as they quietly strolled along, the occasional chitchat breaking the silence.

"So, are you going to talk or are we going to walk all the way to Mexico?"

Kirsten gave a small shrug of her aching shoulders, and a smirk played upon her weary features. She had long ago finished the drink that she had fixed herself to take along on the small stroll.

"What is there to say?"

Hailey shrugged her boxy tan shoulders, inhaling the warm salt air. Kirsten noted that she looked good. "I don't know. You seem to be doing okay…"

Inside, Kirsten is screaming.

"I just miss him Hailey. I miss him so much," she sighs and wipes away the tears that managed to spill over.

Screaming at the top of her lungs, and no one can hear her.

"So much."

12:01 a.m. The beginning of Blue Wednesday.

The day of the funeral.

Five whole days since RED Friday.

One hundred and thirty-five hours and forty-two lonely seconds since he left her all alone.

135:42, tick tock, tick tock.

She missed him. And nothing could bring him back with her.

He is all she wants right now.

Her world has been upside down since Friday.

It doesn't look like it's going to level out anytime soon.

The dark ocean looks more inviting then Kirsten wants to admit.

XxXxX

_They packed up all his buckles _

_And shipped his saddle to his dad_

_And by the way the house looked_

_She must have took it bad _

_The workers come on Monday_

_To fix the door and patch the wall_

_They say she just went crazy_

_The night she got the call_

_He was up in Wyoming_

_And drew a bull no man could ride_

_He promised her he'd turn out_

_Well it turned out that he lied_

_And their dreams that they'd been living'_

_In the California sand_

_Died right there beside him_

_In Cheyenne_

_They say she just went crazy_

_Screamin' out his name_

_She ran out into the ocean_

_And to this day they claim_

_That if you go down by the water_

_You'll see her footprints in the sand_

'_Cause every night she walks_

_the beaches of Cheyenne_

_They never found her body_

_Just her diary by the bed_

_It told about the fight they had_

_And the words that she had said_

_When he told her was ridin'_

_She said then I don't give a damn_

_If you never come back from Cheyenne_

_They say she just went crazy_

_Screamin' out his name_

_She ran out into the ocean_

_And to this day they claim_

_That you can go down by the water_

_And see her footprints in the sand_

'_Cause every night she walks the beaches of Cheyenne_

_Nobody can explain it_

_Some say she's still alive_

_They even claim they've seen her_

_On the shoreline late at night_

_So if you go down by the water_

_You'll see her footprints in the sand_

'_Cause every night she walks_

_the beaches of Cheyenne._

_-Garth Brooks, Beaches of Cheyenne. _


	4. Blue Weds & Crap Colored Thurs

Holy Crap you guys are so freaking awesome! You need to keep your reviews going. Cause I write this for all of you!

A.D.I.D.A.R – Adopt this policy.

All. Day. I. Dream. About. Reviewing.

You all rock my socks. The poem is from A.H Auden - you all can give a shoutout to Bronte for suggesting it. Hopefully you like this one, and yes there will be a chapter 5. lol. Anyway, read and review.

XxXxX

"_Nothing's perfect. Sometimes things just happen."_

"_Yeah, but never to someone like you, right?"_

Kirsten & Theresa, the O.C

XxXxX

"_BECAUSE IF I DON'T DO IT – THEN SOMETHING **WILL** HAPPEN KIRSTEN!" _his words echo in her inconsolable thoughts as she gingerly sits down on the cold patio furniture, in which many nights were spent alone together enjoying each others unfaltering company. The waves crashed below and her chilled body shivered in the cool California air.

She's lost so much weight already, even she is surprised.

It could have been snowing out and she wouldn't have cared any less.

It didn't really matter if the sun shined, or the stars glimmered. She didn't care if the moon decided to rise or the birds sang their sweet morning song.

Nothing mattered anymore.

_Nothing. _

Hailey had gone to bed after their walk, the jet lag evident on her face, stealing Seth's room and leaving Seth to bunk with Ryan again.

Her boys – they weren't back yet and it worried her…

1:43 a.m. Blue Wednesday. Sandy's funeral. The day she thought would never come, or if it did, they would have lived a long, happy life.

The day that she swore she would never see because secretly she always prayed that she would go first.

But it came too soon.

And she didn't go first.

Not like she had envisioned, or hoped for.

_Not like she wanted. _

She looks warily at her watch, noting the time again and shifts her gaze to the amber liquid swirling in the crystal depths of the glass.

She sighs, "_BECAUSE IF I DON'T DO IT – THEN SOMETHING **WILL** HAPPEN KIRSTEN!" _

_SOMETHING **WILL **HAPPEN! _

Not something might happen, or may happen. Something would happen. Indefinitely.

To them.

To her.

To their sons.

To _his_ family.

And Sandy knew it.

Now she knew it too. It was the self-sacrifice he made in order to protect them.

In minds eye she could see what interesting conversation that John Riggotti held over Sandy's head.

"_If you don't work on my case, I'll kill them."_

She could visualize her husbands head snapping up, the terrified gleam in his rousing blue eyes as he digested the words spoken by a madman. She knew his response.

"_If you do anything to them, **ANYTHING**, you won't need my help, because I'll be the one rotting in jail and you'll be six feet underground." _

_It wasn't a threat – it was the truth. _

But then the Thursday before the Friday that she hated so much, the Friday that changed her life forever – she remembers coming home to a serious and joyless Sandy. Her husband never looked so weary or nervous even.

He looked downright haggard and gaunt.

He hadn't shaved, he had the start of raccoon rings under his eyes, barely visible – but she noticed them.

His normally expressional, loving blue-green eyes were dark and cloudy and she could tell his thoughts were heavy. His shoulders were slumped and even his tie was wrinkled.

She realizes now that the signs were there.

Signs she should have interpreted and known – signs that spelled out the words,

W.R.O.N.G. T.E R.R.I.B.L.Y. W.R.O.N.G.

She realizes that the threat that Sandy had told her about was a minor part of the conversation, the tip of the iceberg. He let her know that something wasn't exactly right, he just didn't go into depth.

"_You had better pray I don't land in jail." _

"_Or?" _

"_Or I'll kill them." _

"_If you do anything to them, **ANYTHING**, you won't need my help, because I'll be the one in jail and you'll be six feet underground."_

"_Then I'll kill you." _

_Silence. _

_The air was heavy. The words were true. _

_If that was the case, then so be it. _

_As long as he didn't touch his family. _

_He swallowed and looked up at the man. Attempted a pitiful negotiation. _

"_Nothing is impossible Mr. Cohen. NOTHING." _

"_AND I'M TELLING YOU THIS IS!" His hand slams on the desk, rattling them both, his emotions striped down to nothing on the date his fate was decided. _

_John Riggotti swallowed, his long, shaggy hair falling into his ruthless eyes. He ran a hand over his five-day unshaven face. He knew it was true. He knew that Sandy Cohen was a family man and would do anything to protect his family. His threats were leaving a burdening impression on the man in front of him. _

_A man pressured works better, finds solutions quicker, faster, more precise. _

"_This is it, this is the best I can do! I can plead you down to a misdemeanor and you will spend six months in a minimal security prison. Which if you ask me, is a hell of a lot better then six years." _

_John Riggotti nods, digests the harsh truth of his altered reality. _

"_Then I guess that will do."_

_Maybe. _

"_And you won't touch my family?" _

_He shook his head. "Not a hair." _

_The words were unspoken and quivered in the air. _

'_But, that doesn't mean you won't take their place.'_

_Sandy could read his thoughts and his expression shown with the words of, 'If that is what has to be done, then so be it.' _

She was jostled from her thoughts as The Nana eased into the chilled chair beside her and lit up a cigarette.

Kirsten looked at her numbly.

The Nana glared back, "What? I'm dying anyway."

_No real reason to stick around now. _

Kirsten shook her head and reached over, grabbing a cigarette herself.

"Why not."

The Nana raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Maybe, just maybe the rush of nicotine would soothe her already buzzed and weary soul.

Maybe not.

As she inhaled her first cigarette in years, Kirsten knew her husband was probably rolling in his grave right about now.

XxXxX

"No, no, no, we need to pull over. I need a cigarette! FUCK! I FUCKING KILLED HIM! WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOTHING HAPPENED!"

Ryan, who was more of the quiet type, was shouting his response as Tom drove speedily away from the crime scene.

"RYAN! Calm down, nothing happened," he spoke in an authoritative tone. He calmly pulled into a gas station, paid for a pack of Newports - fittingly enough, and a bag of ice.

The rest of the group was silent and stony as if their drunken minds couldn't handle the overload.

First they were rushed out of the club.

The next thing they knew Tom was yelling something about a drug deal gone wrong, shots were fired, it had been total chaos. Or it sounded like gunshots?

People yelling, Tom yelling, Ryan and Seth yelling, Tom ushering all of them this way and that. Pulling them in front of other people, dunking their heads in the limo like a cop does with a suspect, rushing around the other side, slamming the door and peeling off.

Yes, Tom squealed wheels.

And now Ryan was talking about killing someone.

"Dude, Ryan, chill," Luke offered.

Ryan scoffed.

Easy for Luke to say.

Luke didn't kill anyone with his fist.

Luke didn't kill a drug lord's son.

Not Luke with those piercing blue curious eyes.

Him.

The Atwood Luck.

"Fuck!" he whispers raggedly this time, Tom takes a hold of his hand and stuck it in the bag full of ice.

Seth's brown eyes met his in a ghastly gaze.

"Don't even think about taking your hand out from that bag. If there's no swelling, there are no traces, right? Cause nothing happened Ryan, if anything it was self defense…."

Tom's eyes probed Ryan's the inward green's yelling at the boys blue depths, '_think Ryan, think!'_

Ryan nods his neurotic blue eyes, taking in this depth of new information, letting it swirl in his not-nearly-drunk-enough thoughts.

Tom's a knowledgeable son of a bitch.

Ryan turns his head sideways, like a dog that has heard a high pitch noise and can't figure out where it is coming from.

"No traces, right?" 

He knows.

This isn't the first time Tom's done something like this.

XxXxX

Tom drops the other kids off at the appropriate houses tonight before heading to the Cohen home. Marissa's Mom waited at the door of the McMansion, worry evident upon her steely, but beautiful features. Arms crossed, tight sweatpants suit, Julie looks more like a model, then a Mom.

Seth is silent, stony, his light colored features are paler than normal. His curly hair is matted down, stiff with sweat in some places.

His shoulders physically ached from helping Tom pull furious Ryan off of the drug lord's kid, Johnny the fourth. He could feel the knots of tension high upon his lanky shoulders and back.

'_Physical labor sucks,' _Seth thought as he slowly trudged up to his house, through the backyard.

His head hurt from the loud music and the rush of emotions that have been reeking havoc in his body the past few days. He really missed his goofy, caring Dad. The buzzy alcohol that had been rushing through his system had made sure that it rushed through his emotions too, slamming that fact in his face time and time again.

Like the sympathetic looks weren't enough.

Seth slowly slumbered up through the yard, lost in his own thoughts and flinched visibly when his mother spoke in her best-are-you-trying-to-worry-me-out-of-my-mind voice.

"Where have you been?" Startlingly her voice was quiet and soft, yet surprisingly firm.

He blinked a few times quickly and gestured with his hands, "Uh, mom, okay? Wow, you're up late aren't you? Nice night isn't it," he moved his hands about towards the night sky and cool California air.

"Seth? Where have you been? And where's Ryan?" She raised an eyebrow and let her dark blue eyes scan for any signs of him.

"We, you know Mom, all of us, we just uh, went out, cause it's such a nice night out. And he's back there somewhere, helping Tom with something. Some sort of limo mechanics 101 or something."

He prayed she was drunk.

And that she couldn't read the wary and shell-shocked gaze that he undoubtedly carried upon his face.

Her eyes met his and even though the dark bluish rings drew his gaze he could tell she wasn't.

"I can see you went out, Seth. My question is to where?"

"We just went to a club, I'm going to bed," he scoffed quietly.

But his Mom was quicker than he bargained for and she rose quickly pulling him close. She leaned back and brushed the unruly hair off his forehead before running it through the rest of his damp hair.

He looked at her blankly for a few moments, before grinning at her sheepishly, his eyes dancing as he remembers the tender motion from the years of growing up with his affectionate parents.

_Parents. Parent. One now. _

"Thanks," he murmured quietly, giving her the shy smile that he could always use against her when it came to replaceable items like Ipod's, and Playstation's, and get anything he wanted, whenever he wanted it.

Murder. _'Mom? By the way, Ryan killed John Riggotti's son. Yeah! Totally awkward, I know! No, I don't know how what we're going to do now that Dad's not here…' _

"No problem sweetie," she whispers to him in the comforting motherly tone he is used to hearing. But she's not the mother he remembers. She's not even the same person.

"You okay?" She indicates now quickly with her hands, before clasping them and he can see the concerned look, the one that was held deep in her eyes along with the questionable, perfectly arching eyebrow.

'_I should be asking you that.' _

He nods softly, watches as she fiddles with the wedding bands on her left hand. "Yeah, it's just so weird. It's kind of almost too minty for words," he smiles again because he knows it's what she wants to see.

Even though it's not the entire truth.

Today. Today was the day when everything hit the fan. Blue Wednesday.

It was easy to hide his emotions when he was with people, kissing Summer, catching up with Luke, talking to Ryan…. When he wasn't killing people.

'_Stop.' _

He shook his head and gave her an apologetic look. "Mom, I'm beat, I'm going to bed, night."

"Night Seth…"

He slowly trudged into the castle of a mansion, giving her his little wave as he closes the patio door, acknowledging his own, 'Goodnight.'

Her gaze is steely as she waits for Ryan and Tom.

She wasn't born yesterday, and Seth, like Sandy, is a horrible liar when it comes to facial expressions.

XxXxX

Ryan is taking the last drag of his cigarette and puts it out while Tom waits with an open hand for the rest of the pack.

He knows he can't let Kirsten find out that her kid has been smoking.

Or killing the drug lord's son's whose father killed their father.

That's a brain teaser.

This kid is an original chain smoker.

He's stone sober now, Tom can see it in his hooded blue eyes, eyes that hold fear and nervousness. Fear because Sandy isn't there to bail him out if something bad comes from this. Fear because it's the loss of the fatherly figure that caused him to come to blows. Fear that he doesn't even know if he is in control of his own anger anymore.

But no resentment, no trace of regret graces those soft, young features. A jaw muscle twitches, the only indication that he is thinking of what just happened.

If anything, Tom guesses, he would do it all over again.

"Are you okay now?"

The kid looks at him as if to say, _'Is anything in this household look OKAY to you right now?" _

He blinks a few times and Tom swears that his chilly blue eyes turn a lighter, a more tender blue.

A blue that no one would guess as to what just happened at the club.

"I'm fine."

His voice wavers in the beginning, but only slightly.

XxXxX

He's so tired.

His buzz is gone, the adrenaline rush is gone. The nicotine rush has left him feeling drowsy.

All he wants to do is sleep.

His hand throbs softly and he looks at it, its not swollen but there are small bruises forming, and that's to be expected.

But it's not swollen.

No traces right? 

Right.

Ryan was more than shocked when Tom snapped on gloves faster than you can say, "Whoa," and pulled out the pills and then a roll of cash, before he made it look like a set up.

A drug deal gone bad.

Tom is prepared. Tom is prepared way more than the average human being should be…

Ryan watched as he placed a few pills in the dead kids pants pocket, scattering the rest on the ground and then placed the rouge wad of cash in his other, throwing a few bills in the wind.

Ryan understood.

His Daddy is a drug lord.

This is a drug bust gone wrong.

And _No One_ will be none the wiser.

It's perfect, almost flawless, and for a second Ryan wonders about Tom. Wonders how he thought of this so quickly…

He managed to glance up at Seth's paled, nervous-looking face, glancing into those dark chocolate depths and for the first time, Ryan saw that Seth was afraid of him.

Scared of his brother.

He shivers as he continues his walk, his head looking down at his feet, his blond shaggy bangs hanging down obstructing his view.

He doesn't need to see, he can walk this place in his sleep.

This is home. Even though it feels dead and empty without Sandy's liveliness, soft smiles and love for the underdog.

"Ryan?" Kirsten's voice in unusually soft and he freezes in mid stride.

"Hey," he speaks quietly, knowing that this is the one person he does not want to see tonight. He tilts his head a little, the blond hair falling into his eyes, "You're up late."

"So are you."

Yep. _'Oh, Kirsten, by the way, I killed John Riggotti's son. Oops.' _

"Seth's idea," he shrugged.

"Mmm," she murmurs nodding her head and staring at him, eyes dark in wonderment. He knows that "Mmm," he's heard her use it on Sandy many times.

It's the I-don't-believe-you-but-I'll-let-it-go-for-now Mmm.

Her blue eyes are like X-Ray vision, he swears she can see what he did, smell the death on his fists. The dark rings underneath her tired eyes stand out, even in the dark. Even from where she is sitting those bluish rings haunt him because he knows that he is failing her.

He swears at that instant Kirsten knows that he did something terribly wrong. She just can't place what it is yet.

At the very least he knows that she can tell he has been fighting. Her glance was meant to be casual but it lingered on his fist and he knows she can see the makings of a bruise.

It was a Mom thing.

She says nothing but gets up from her sitting position in the patio chair, her hand reached out and brushed the hair out of his eyes and he looks patiently at her. Waiting.

Waiting for her to yell at him.

"Kirsten you need to sleep."

"And you need a haircut," her voice is soft and caring as she runs her hand through his hair again and smiles. He can't help but think that his own mother's voice was never that soft.

Of course she would never yell at him.

Unless she finds out what he just did.

Despite the fact that Sandy is dead she can't help but think of the little things, like haircuts.

She gives him a hug and bids him goodnight, watching him as he goes.

When he looks into her sober eyes he can't help but notice how different they look since Sandy has left them. He can't help but notice that all the makeup in the world can't hide her emotions that play constantly in her blue depths.

He can't help but notice that even though she looks like she's fine, the slump in her shoulders is getting worse, the way she walks is different, and the way she looks at people… it's like she can stare right at you, and never see you at all. Her mind is blank as her thoughts beg for the one thing she can't have.

Sandy.

He knows deep down she's screaming inside.

He knows this because he's yelling with all his might too.

But he doesn't know how to help her.

He can't even help himself.

XxXxX

She trudges up the steps and through the foyer of empty spiritless foyer into her forlornly bedroom.

Her hearts heavy and she realizes how much more alcohol she should have drunk before attempting this somber feat.

Her eyes well up with tears at the simply thought of sleeping alone in the vast bed.

Everything she does, she does in slow motion.

She changes clothes in slow motion. The tight fabric falling away to the floor in a lifeless heap.

She pulls back the covers in slow motion. Listens as the soft 'whoosh,' of air gets underneath the expensive sheets and watches as they fall playfully back down to the bed, as if nothing ever happened and they're waiting for life to continue.

She breathes in slow motion. As every breath aches.

She cries in slow motion. Tears leave silent, stony trails down her colorless cheeks.

Because it's Wednesday.

It's her husband's funeral.

He's been gone for one hundred thirty five hours, with forty-two lonely minutes and an unbearable amount of aching seconds.

It's everything she's never wanted.

It's everything she's dreaded… and it's only the beginning.

Time stops again, like it has been doing, since last Friday.

XxXxX

"Mom? We don't have to do this, I mean, do we...? The rich and famous will understand if we're not there… we will just have to deal with the rumors… We can like you know, escape or make a cameo appearance, stuff like that?" He tugs at his tie, pulling it away from his neck. He looks like Sandy at that instant. Curly dark hair, wild eyes, a nervous grin, a tinge of pink rushes to his cheeks almost as if he's embarrassed by his own idea.

She glances at him, amused, the dark rings underneath her eyes glare despite being covered by makeup and dark sunglasses.

Ryan smirks. Amazingly none of them have a hangover.

_Tylenol before, headache no more. _

'_Killer,' _Seth's mind flashes as the involuntary thought passes quickly.

At least they all feel the same way… about the funeral.

It's too hot.

Too suffocating.

Was it like a hundred degrees in this heated hell that was driving him to where he didn't want to go, or was it just him overreacting?

A cautious glance told the tale.

His Mom was nervous too, and when he had knocked on her bedroom door this morning to see if she was ready, he heard her throwing up in the bathroom.

He knew it most likely wasn't from the liquor either.

He sighed and looked out the dark tinted window. 12:34 p.m. Blue Wednesday. _ Tick tock, tick, tock, _time mocks him and reminds him that his father is dead.

The closer they get, the more his heart pounds in his chest, the more the bile rises in his throat and the hotter it gets in the air conditioned black and chrome stretch limousine.

XxXxX

Pastor Joseph McQuend greets them at the door, the sympathy in his soft gray eyes are astounding. His nearly white hair blows with the slight breeze as he waits to greet them by the door.

"Kirsten, hello," his voice is soft and soothing as he embraces her and nods to the boys and Sandy's mother. She introduces her boys and Ryan's hooded blue eyes watch the Pastor's cautiously.

Her sunglasses are still on, despite the darkness of the church.

His voice is so soft and soothing and for the first time since _Friday_ Kirsten feels at ease. "You don't look so well Kirsten, Sandy wouldn't have this," he made a motion with his hand, "You're not taking care of yourself." His weathered gray eyes look upon her too thin features and her too pale face, with those dark uncaring eyes and beneath them, dark unrelenting circles that show everything he doesn't want to see, but understands.

Living isn't living without him.

Waking up in the morning is a struggle.

Falling asleep at night without a prescription or the massive intake of alcohol is nearly impossible.

These things he can tell in a single glance. Most people have the signs at a loss, and some people recover. Some never will. He wishes that he could tell that it would all be okay, but he knows she won't believe him.

She watches as the boys depart, talking amongst each other and Sophie Cohen has settled for looking around the church and at the various pictures of her son.

She pulls the sunglasses off her pale face and looks at the Pastor with icy, dark blue eyes. "I don't really care much about anything, anymore," her voice is distant even though she is standing right beside him.

The sad part is he can see that it's true.

She looks away, and shivers uncontrollably, even though the church isn't cold.

It's cool, but not enough to warrant shivering.

It's nearing 1 p.m. Joseph looks at her with the same sympathetic eyes that everyone has.

_He's so sorry. _

And it's almost time to start.

_Tick tock. _

He can hear her teeth chatter together and knows that it's not the cold that's doing it.

Her heart falls down into her stomach and pounds while the goosebumps rise along her arms as her conscious mind has come to one smacking realization.

'_This is it. You will be alone, now, forever.' _

XxXxX

The massive church held nearly everyone in Newport Beach. The parking lot held the other rest of the public that couldn't fit and wasn't literally screened by police to get in. It was if you had to have an invitation to go to this funeral.

The press are like hawks, waiting for scenes to feed on but they did have some respect - they were all dressed in black.

Julie must have went on a shopping spree because she is wearing a different black but sexier and shorter outfit. RED hair abounds down in a mess of curls and her normally hard, steely blue eyes were soft as she gazed into Kirsten's with a small smile of sympathy.

Julie is stunning.

Jimmy sits with his hands folded beside her his dark suit making him look handsome, regal, and years older then what he should be. His tan stands out and it makes his sad brown eyes sparkle. The wrinkles around his eyes are more apparent then ever and he looks tired.

Caleb sits next to Kirsten, dressed smartly in his solid black on black Armani suit. She can't read his blue eyes and doesn't even know if she wants too. Maybe he's happy Sandy's dead.

Maybe not.

Both Jimmy and Caleb are going to speak.

Hailey, who looks worn bare to the bone, sits on the other side of her father, squashing Jimmy and Julie together.

They don't seem to mind.

She might get up and speak. If she has the strength to stand up and walk. If she thought for sure that she wouldn't collapse up there on the podium in solid tears and sobs. She doesn't want another tranquilizer that will surely follow. She needs to though, she needs to get this off her chest, maybe it will offer her closure.

Maybe not.

Jimmy, Luke, Seth, Ryan, Caleb, and surprisingly Tom, will now carry the coffin to the hurst waiting outside and to its final resting place, the cemetery.

The pastor cleared his throat as he stood up at the head of beautiful, elegant church.

A soft ruffle of people shifting in their seats, the soft whispers, the thin sound of papers being used as fans echo barely through the vast space. It seats over thirty-five hundred people, and its completely filled with the doors opened as many people stand up in the back because there is no more room to sit.

Kirsten can feel her throat constrict before he even begins.

"It has been devastating what has happened to Sandy Cohen and their family. I had the pleasure of meeting him, when Kirsten would drag him here against his will at times, and he was such a pleasure to meet, to interact with and we held many interesting conversations over the years that we met," he smiles at her.

Sophie Cohen looks almost horrified at the thought. But she then relaxes and knows her boy would do anything for _that _Kirsten.

A small giggle erupted through the massive body of people and even she felt like cracking a smile at the memories. Even Ryan and her father smiled lightly at that. She's positive they can picture the protests that Sandy used.

"Sandy was always the underdog, always trying to help those who needed it. And no matter what was done against Sandy, whether you yelled in his face, he would help you. Sandy made that his mission in life, and he left behind two wonderful sons and a beautiful wife, who feel the loss of his absence everyday."

He looked at Kirsten and gave her a soft smile. She returned it, the ball of emotions stuck in her throat. Her haunted blue eyes are beginning to cloud with tears. Her bluish rings stand out against her pale features. She is shaking.

He will pray for her tonight.

"Let us pray."

She bows her head but she can't feel anything. Her body is numb, her thoughts are numb and if she can feel anything other than the cold that has evaded her body - it's the cold thought of being alone.

Alone.

He says more about Sandy. How Sandy was a great husband, a great father. How Sandy always wanted to help.

Mindless things that don't matter. Nothing matters right now.

The tears start, she tried holding them back but they couldn't anymore.

She starts to lose it after Joseph says the words, "He loved Kirsten more than anything on this earth….He loved his family…."

Because she knows it's true.

And she knows she won't ever have that again.

_She doesn't even want it with someone else. _

She won't ever hear him say those words, "I love you."

Her father's arm comes down across her shoulders and she lets a small sob escape.

Barely, it's enough to catch her breath before her bottom lip starts trembling again.

Pastor Joseph McQuend finishes the beginning of his epitaph. Jimmy rises with a nervous glance to Kirsten and then to Caleb who nods.

It's the she's-okay-go-ahead nod.

Because Jimmy knows it's his arms that she's going into next.

Jimmy walks slowly, a nervous twitch in his stride as if he's thinking of backing out. His tanned forehead is damp, his brown eyes alight with sorrow. It shows that he never thought he would be doing this in a million years.

Who did?

_Tick tock, tick tock, 1:59 p.m._

Strangers watched him, thousands of them. In the church, sitting in their black tux's and black dresses, with their black masks of grief. They watched with dark, black eyes, hauntingly, waiting for him to falter, to say something, to say anything that would give them a better perspective on the life that had been lived.

He shifted from foot to foot and with a gentle raise of his eyebrows began.

"Well, I'm sure most of you know me. I'm Jimmy Cooper, and if you don't that doesn't really matter now. Sandy was… Sandy was one of a kind. And I really don't know what to say. You see I was going to write this long speech about what a great life he lived and everything he did. But I can't. There just aren't enough words to say what I want to say about him."

His hands moved nervously in front of him, and he shifted from right to left, his eyes skipping over the strangers randomly.

Kristen watched him with silent tears streaming down her tinged pink cheeks.

"Sandy, he was the kind of person who could always bring a smile to your face, you know? We all turned to him, and even though Caleb, Sandy's father-in-law would go round and round, if Kirsten asked him to help her Dad, he would do it. If Caleb asked him for help, he helped him. It was just who he was. Um, man, I used to be so jealous of Sandy and Kirsten, because they had that kind of relationship that always made you wonder, the kind where they never fought. Sandy he would always do anything for her. Always. His family was his priority. It was just a given."

Jimmy's eyes met hers and he smiled softly as if thinking of his own memory. Julie glares.

"I was glad when Kirsten found him, because I know that he was a better man than I can ever hope to be. And he saved me, if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be standing here right now…. We will… miss you, Sandy Cohen."

Jimmy used the back of his hand to wipe away the few tears that formed and had begun to fall and he stepped down quickly.

'We 

_Will_

_Miss_

_You,_

_Sandy_

_Cohen.' _

His words echoed in her ears and it brought down a new river of tears. Her hands are shaking, her body trembles no matter whose arms are around her. She can see Seth's shoulders shaking and even Ryan is caught sweeping away fallen tears.

_Ms. Kirsten Cohen. _

Someone whispers too loudly, _"Oh, I wouldn't want to be her right now." _

Her father strides up to the front of the church, the business man attitude much in with his attire.

He looks weary and worn. He doesn't want to do this either.

Could it be? The Great Caleb Nichol, saying a eulogy for his son-in-law? The son in law that he reputably hated…

People shifted in their seats and they could be heard whispering to each other, small sobs and sniffles echoed throughout the church. Shuffling, the soft whirring noise of fans moves the stiff air around.

Sandy's smiling face looks back at them from the pictures placed around the church.

Caleb cleared his regal throat. His daring blue eyes took in what was before him. People. Thousands of people. Waiting. People Waiting. People listening. It's like the worst business meeting he's ever had.

'_Waiting for what? What the hell are you waiting for now!'_ He wants to shout.

Instead he looks down, and sighs, a small piece of paper magically flutters out from his pocket and his face is grim as he prepares to read what he was written.

"I was going through my bible, at home and I came across a small passage that speaks from the heart. Job 16:6. Though I speak, my grief is not relieved. And _though_ I remain silent, how am I eased."

He let the silence ripple through the church before continuing.

His voice, softer, more shallow, "Sandy, was a great man, and I loved him for the way he took care of my family. He had no fear of me, even arguing openly, our bickering often bringing smiles to my grandsons. I think they enjoyed it more than we did."

He smiles softly.

"My daughter especially. Losing Sandy is the worst thing that could have possibly happened to us. He kept us together, on edge, he would sometimes rattle my daughter and myself to no end, but that was just Sandy. He brought my daughter Ryan and gave someone else a chance for a better life, because it's what he did," he paused, swallowed and then continued, "There is a need for people like him, in this world, I'll miss him."

He stepped down. He was going to say more, but there was no need.

Kirsten sighs.

She trembles uncontrollably.

But she rose and walked up to where her father had been standing. Her hands shook as she took the small piece of paper from her pocket.

Her hair is cooperating, but her eyes refuse too, and unshed tears that well in her eyes rush down her cheeks.

She doesn't bother sweeping them away anymore.

Her eyes cast to Seth's and her gives her a weak smile and a small thumbs up.

She clears her throat, and then realizes, like wiping away the tears it's pointless.

Her voice is hoarse. "I was going to try to say something, and then I realized that I couldn't," she clears her throat softly, " I was going to tell you all of my husband's accomplishments and how wonderful he is, but from the two men in front of me you already know that. I realize that I can't put everything into words, but someone else can. W.H Auden can describe exactly everything, and please bear with me," she motions with her hands towards her tears and everyone knows.

They understand.

She clears her throat again. Everyone's eyes focus on her, sorrow and sympathy more evident then ever before. Her face is pale, the rings are so blatantly obvious a few people whisper. Her cheeks are flushed and tinged pink from crying and her eyes are dark, deep blue.

"_Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone. Prevent the dog from barking with the juicy bone." _

She swallows. Shivers. Wills her heart to stop pounding so hard against her.

"_Silence the pianos and with muffled drum, bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let the airplanes circle moaning overhead. Scribbling in the sky the message: 'He is dead!'" _

Her voice trembles, and her hands shake visibly and she clears her throat again, her eyes casting to the dark colored gloves of a police officer in the back. He looks down at his gloves as well.

Tremble.

"_Put crepe bows around the white necks of the public doves. Let the traffic policemen wear the black cotton gloves."_

She's struggling and everyone can see it. Maybe this is what they're waiting for.

Deep breath.

"_He was my North… my South… my East… and West, my working week and… Sunday rest, my noon, my… midnight, my talk,… my song. I thought that… love… would last forever; I was wrong..." _

Her voice breaks and she cries for a few moments, her body trembles uncontrollably, and the tears run down her cheeks like the rain pours.

_The stars are not wanted now: put out everyone… pack up the moon and dismantle the sun… Pour away the ocean… and sweep up the wood, …for nothing now… can come to any good." _

She sighs shakily and looks out amongst her gathers and is surprised at the amount of tears that are flowing for a stranger. She wants to say more, but she can't. She has no more feeling left in her loudly thudding heart. She is shocked that she can even feel that. She wants to sit down, she wants to close her eyes and forget that she ever read a poem at her husband's funeral.

She wants to forget this day ever happened.

Somehow she makes it back to her seat while the Pastor takes over. Her family is in tears and she feels more empty and alone then ever.

XxXxX

The ride to the cemetery was total silence other then small sighs, sniffs and shifting. The amount of people that were there was amazing. Police had actually taped off the gravesite and it was just family listening to the Pastor continue his epitaph at the site.

Seth and Ryan both had RED roses and they placed them along the black casket. She too had a RED rose, but a white one as well.

One for 'I love and miss you.'

One for, 'Forgive me? And I'm sorry.'

It was something that only Sandy would get. He used to give her eleven RED roses and one white one in the center when things went AWOL and he didn't know how to fix it other than with flowers.

She misses him.

Her father supports her as Pastor Joseph McQuend reads from the bible and she cries harder into her father's black expensive jacket.

This day was never supposed to happen.

XxXxX

The rest of Blue Wednesday is a blur. Swear-word Thursday, as Seth now calls it came upon them as Caleb Nichol came out of his mothers bedroom. It's after midnight and the Nana had given her a sedative because Blue Wednesday had turned out to be another collapsible incident, but instead of Jimmy it was her father.

He looked around helpless and The Nana came back with the sedative and told him to take her up to her bedroom.

Seth and Ryan stood there, awestruck.

Everything that happened last night the funeral, the news, the people, was nothing compared to watching his mother break down again.

1:01 a.m. S-Colored Thursday.

Seth didn't know if he was happy or sad. Because now everyone expected them to pick up and move on like nothing ever happened.

He knew he couldn't do that.

He didn't even know where to begin.

XxXxX

While Blue Wednesday's headlines had been 'RED-Friday Victim SANDY COHEN'S Funeral…'

Today's had a different twist.

RIGGOTTI AND SON MURDERED.

POLICE SAY GANG & DRUG RELATED.

_John Riggotti, the third, was killed last night in a prison attack where inmates….his son was killed in what looks to be a drug deal…._

Seth sighed.

Ryan sighed.

Tom sighed. He made a mental note to throw away the cigarettes that were hiding out in the dash of his limousine.

They were in the clear.

Seth vowed to never bring up the subject again.

Ryan vowed that it never happened.

It was just easier that way.

XxXxX

A knock at the door roused Ryan and he answered it and was shoved a vase of flowers and a clipboard, while being ordered to sign here.

Eleven RED Roses.

One White, in the middle.

Eleven "I love you's and miss you's."

One, "I'm sorry, please forgive me."

He brought them into the kitchen and sat them on the island, looking around nervously, his thoughts dancing with ideas.

Kirsten sucked in her breath and felt like throwing up. It had to be a late delivery. He must have ordered these last week and they just got here today.

She cries when reading the card,

_Kirsten,_

_Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up;_

_Love does not behave rudely, does not seek its is not provoked, thinks no evil;_

_Love does not rejoice in iniquity but rejoices in the truth;_

_Love bears all things believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. _

_Love never fails. _

_And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love. _

_1 Corinthians 13:4 – 13. _

_I'll love you forever, you know that right? I'll never leave you._

_Sandy_

She looks at Seth and Ryan confused. Her pale features flush with color and her eyes spark with a beautiful blue. Hearing long lost words revives Kirsten from the sluggish hell she was fading into.

They looked back at her equally confused. The air is bristled with emotions.

Emotions they had all been trying to control around each other.

It was like walking on eggshells the past several hours and finally the house had emptied to where it was just the three of them again, for the time being.

Everyone else had gone out, or gone somewhere and they just didn't feel like it.

They look nervous around each other.

They act nervous around each other.

The doorbell rings.

Kirsten shakes her head in disbelief while her eyes widen, and for a moment she is unsteady on her feet as she goes to answer it. Ryan who is a second behind her, his hand near her elbow, just in case, the puzzlement drenching his eyes and face like wildfire.

He doesn't understand what's going on.

None of them do.

As Kirsten swings open the heavy door to face a fidgeting, mid-forties, a FBI agent who introduces himself as, "Dave Harding," with a badge to prove it.

Seth, still in the kitchen studying the letter, hears the glass door slide open softly as a ghost shuffles through it, a little shakily, slightly unsteady on the feet, a little scruffier than the last time they had seen him. But it was him.

Oh this is impossible.

Downright fucking James Bond, Holy shit, raise the dead, impossible.

"Dad?"

Two heads turn in the direction of the kitchen, hearing his words, and hearing the way he said them.

The other head in the room stares at the family.

Waits for a reaction, a outburst. But there are none.

Ryan looks at Kirsten.

Kirsten looks at Dave Harding.

Dave Harding looks at both of them, an apologetic grin upon his face.

"Oh my God," she trembles as she hears her son and the utter disbelief in his voice.

"Kirsten?" Dave Harding takes her elbow, "Let's talk in the kitchen."

XxXxX


	5. Friday

Wow, here it is. The last chapter. I never thought I would get such a response for this story, I have to say it has definitely been my favorite to write. I hope you enjoy it, this is probably the only chapter I struggled with, and I know there may be a few things left unsaid, but, I felt it ended where it needed to. Please, review, cause you all have done an awesome job.

It's been one hell of a ride. Oh, P.S how many would like this story, told in Sandy's view? It wouldnt be as big, but...

Anyway, it was just a thought. Let me know.

XxXxX

"_Only after disaster can we be resurrected."_

_-Tyler Durden , Fight Club_

"_Without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing."_

_-Tyler Durden, Fight Club. _

XxXxX

Dave Harding, FBI, took her elbow and gave slivers of information as he walked her into the kitchen.

"Sandy came to us, and we've been on to John Riggotti for a long time. But he told us of the threats and we figured that one of his thugs would hurt you, or him, someway, somehow. Never in a million years did I ever think he would pull what he pulled in that courtroom."

Kirsten was violently numb as he led her into her kitchen to see the man whom last night was the only thing she wanted.

She didn't know what to think.

Or to feel.

Or how to react. Should she just run up to him like nothing ever happened?

No. She didn't think her body could run at this moment.

Her whole thought process was way out of whack at the moment. She didn't even think she could possibly think a coherent thought.

_Like that one. _

She knew that with each footstep would bring her closer and closer to the truth.

_Step._

He was alive.

_Step. Step._

And she had never been more scared in her life.

_Step. Drag foot slowly. _

How do you say hello – to someone whom hours before you just said goodbye?

"Our purpose was of course to let John Riggotti think that he had killed Sandy, which would leave you and your family in the clear. We only wanted to make sure John was in prison for life with no parole and seeing as how he did what he did in front of everyone it sent him to the death penalty. We never wanted him dead. That was out of our hands, as well as his son. The Riggotti's weren't popular people."

_Step. Step. Shuffle. _

Seth was hugging Sandy. Dark curly hair stands out against the longer salt and pepper hair of her husband's.

Skinny lanky arms wrapped tightly around the thicker, solid body of her husbands.

_Stop. Thump, thump._

Clinging would be the appropriate term. To him.

Sandy.

Her Sandy.

Shaggy hair, great smile, loveable Sandy.

Alive.

In their kitchen.

_Thump. Thump. Thumpitythumpthump. _

Her wildly, erratic, beating heart skips a few times at the simple thought. Her palms are sweaty with edginess.

_Alive._

_Thump thump._

Her breath quickens and contracts in her chest. She feels alive for the first time in a week.

Surprisingly it's Ryan who goes to Sandy next, giving him a hug, while Kirsten watches, trembling. He winces as Ryan tightens the hug, his body sore.

Relief is evident upon his young features as he realizes that he can once again be seventeen and it isn't his responsibility anymore. He won't be failing anyone unless he fails a subject at school. He pulls back, and sighs.

Dark, frightened blue eyes meet his and it's Sandy who takes a step forward.

She takes a step back.

A small gasp escapes. Eyes dance wildly, nervously, unsure as she backs away again. Her heart pounds, her hands tremble and her mind tells her body to run.

_This can't be real, can it? _

_It's not everyday the proclaimed dead walk among us. _

She's petrified and she doesn't know how to react. It's not the first time she's been numb this week. But it is the most frightening. The most realistic, the most startling.

'_No! You're DEAD!' _

His flicker of a smile dances across his face and he gazes at her knowingly. He wants to reassure her, tell her it's okay that everything's fine now. He wants to tell her that this wasn't his idea and when he woke up he was in an unfamiliar hospital bed with David Harding, FBI standing over him, telling him they told his family he was dead. That will all come later.

Along with random rage blackouts.

"Kirsten, it's okay," his voice is low and oddly soothing.

She shakes her head, her rigid body trembles uncontrollably. _'No. No it's not okay. Nothing's okay. DO YOU KNOW WHAT LOSING YOU FEELS LIKE? I DIED INSIDE.' _

Dave backs out of the room silently. It's a family moment. Worse comes to worse, he'll just come back tomorrow, which sounds like the best idea to him.

Once the chaos has calmed down, once the frightening shock has left most of their systems. Once they realize that he is – indeed – alive.

'_Tomorrow, Sandy Cohen, I'll bring you back to life. Tomorrow we'll shock the world. Tomorrow.' _

Everything can always be put off another day.

Tomorrow.

Tears run down her cheeks as she looks at him, and she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know if she should go to him, or run out of the room. She knows what she wants to do, but actually moving her frozen body is impossible at the moment.

The word 'astound,' has new meaning.

_Step back. _

He watches as her hands shake and as she twists them nervously, without thinking. Her teeth chatter softly as the endless amount of never ending tears drip down her now flushed cheeks and over the dark rings that have taken over her normally pale but beautiful features. Her eyes are dark and confused the blue uncharacteristically gloomy from the circles beneath her eyes.

'_Get out, get out, get out, the rooms closing,' _her mind is yelling what her body doesn't want to hear.

He knows one thing: If he doesn't get her now, he'll lose her forever.

_Step back. Back, back, back, almost clear. _

_Run. _

He's quick as he closes the gap quickly despite the gasp of breath that it takes to get him there, gathering her into his arms before she can run, talking softly, his low voice rumbles soothingly as he feels her arms wrap around his neck and she pulls him as close as possible.

She struggled against him, despite his gentle but firm hold upon her.

"I told you, I was never leaving you."

It's the deep rumble of his voice that gets her and she collapses against him. She sobs against him and he can feel her whole body tremble against his as her hands roam over his shoulders, his back, frantically, searching, searching for it to all be a figment of the imagination.

She won't let go.

She is terrified to let go, as if this is all a delusion and it won't be real. But the kiss pressed tightly into her temple assures her that it is. His pressure of his hands holding her too thin body against his is real. The soft sweep of his hand that traces her jaw line and tips her chin up to look him in the eyes is real. Looking into his green-blue teary eyes is real. The kiss he places softly on her lips is real.

It's soft and tender and screams, _'I love you and I'm so sorry.' _

"I swear to God, Sandy, if you pull a stunt like that again I will kill you, personally, myself," she whispers through her tears.

XxXxX

The four of them were gathered in the family room, at various places close to Sandy. He was talking softly to the boys when she abruptly stood up, apologized, "I need a shower," and was gone.

They knew.

They all understood.

The stress. The pressure. The surprise and now finally the real shock was setting in.

Again.

She had to un-heal, what had been slowly half way healed.

She had to un-say the goodbye's she had said she had to un-lock the parts of her heart that she had said would never be touched again.

It was like reopening a closed wound which had never healed correctly in the first place.

It's not everyday that the person who you just said goodbye to for the final time at their own funeral walks through the backdoor like a dream…

XxXxX

The shower screamed as it dropped its hot pellets of water against her chilly skin. It didn't matter that twenty minutes have gone by since she had announced she was taking this shower.

In those twenty minutes her body hasn't stopped shaking.

She doubted anything good other then a good stiff drink, which if she thought she could bypass Sandy and go get it – she would. But she didn't think she could.

Not without him touching her.

The water was beginning to go cold and she wearily stepped out, wrapping the light blue cotton cloth around her body.

She opened the door to find him walking into their bedroom and she froze, a small gasp escaping, her hand covering her mouth as if seeing him all over again is just shocking as it was downstairs.

Despite the haggard, dark circles underneath her eyes, she is simply stunning in that light blue, fluffy towel, her blond hair dark with water, her ivory pink skin has goosebumps.

He stopped dead in his tracks, the nervousness in his eyes, in his body.

He gives her a self-conscious, flicker of a smile, a hopeful smile.

"For this past week I have told myself that I would never see you walk through that door again. And now that you have, I don't know what to say, or do?" She smiles nervously at him, before the confusion gushes across the heated pink of her cheeks.

His eyes roamed her flushed body, the defensive stances she had, as if seeing a ghost for the first time. The dark rings around her hooded eyes. The look she has in her eyes, it's mysterious, and unresponsive.

He can't read her.

'_Idiot. She is. You are a ghost.' _

It seemed that maybe his rose's idea should have been reversed. Eleven white, 'I'm Sorry's.' One RED, 'I love you.'

He gave her a partial grin. "I can sleep on the couch," he offered quietly, his eyes sad and she watched as he dipped his head, his hair falling down, looking at the carpet and waiting for her answer.

She could see the wince he would have in minds eye if she had said no. The broken heart, the broken look in his eyes that he would carry, the unrelenting guilt that would run through his brain, forever if she would say 'No.'

"No Sandy, it's fine. You can sleep here; this is your bedroom too…"

He nodded and sighed, resuming his walk to his side of the bedroom as she quickly scanted across to hers.

She changed as quickly as possible, whether it was from nerves or the idea of being watched, she has no idea.

Sandy was slower, more sluggish; it hurt him to lift his arms up over his head. He groaned softly as the muscles were forced to stretch themselves beyond their slowly healing limits.

As she stood from her frozen perch by the closet, she could see why he ached so badly, why he moved so slowly and maybe why he didn't tell them what had happened. A covered wound covered his right shoulder, right above his heart. The skin peeking out from underneath the bandage was dark blue, green, and bruised. Another white bandage covered his lower left side, over his ribs, the bruises followed the bandage. He was pale and shaky, and his hands trembled as he tried to put on his shirt.

She winced as she watched him.

He took bullets for them. For her. For their family.

Those could have had her name on it, or Ryan's or Seth's and yet Sandy took those bullets for them.

It was his sacrifice and he would have the scars to prove it.

And Jimmy Cooper claimed that he had no idea what it was like to provide for a family.

He sighed as he gave up on trying to put the shirt on and looked up at her apologetically.

She gave him a weak smile, "I'm going to check on the boys, I'll be back."

He nodded softly.

He knew. She didn't know her place and the twenty years spent together had been blown apart because of one simple Friday.

1:43 in the morning.

He sighs.

Time stopped again for him, like it had been doing since he got shot in that courtroom and laid there, bleeding, and frightened out of his mind.

Frightened because he thought he would never see his family again, his wife, his sons.

Now they were frightened of him, and probably angry for thinking he put them through that on purpose.

They don't have any idea how it was to wake up in that hospital room, three days later and realize that the FBI told his family he was dead. He watched his own funeral on TV.

A chill runs up and down his spine. He hates that thought.

Settling down into the familiar bed, on the comforting familiar sheets Sandy Cohen finally drifted off to sleep for the first time in days.

XxXxX

"You guys okay?" Her voice is soft as she walks towards them.

They are sitting exactly as she left them, except they moved up to the couch.

"Yeah, Mom, sure right as rain," his voice is thick with sarcasm. "It's not everyday my father who is supposed to be "dead" simply creeps through the backdoor."

"I know Seth. I don't think it's his fault though; give him time, we'll get answers tomorrow. Call your grandfather though; tell him to occupy the Nana and everyone until late tomorrow okay? I think we need some time before it goes public and blows up on us."

Ryan was silent. He looked up and smiled as she passed him, her hands brushing through his hair. He couldn't help but think how badly he needed to talk to Sandy.

And how he killed someone.

He killed for Sandy because he thought Sandy was dead.

He sighed.

Glancing at the clock it read 1:47 in the morning.

Friday.

Maybe he wouldn't say anything to Sandy. He just wants to forget it ever happened. He knows Seth won't say anything. Maybe he will just let it all go, pretend it never happened. It sounds good to him.

He sighs again and looks at Seth who is talking to his grandfather, telling him that "Mom needs some un-coddling time. Time to chill, ya know gramps?"

They all need to recover.

Again.

XxXxX

"_John Riggotti I sentence you to six months in a minimal security prison and a fine of five-thousand dollars."_

_Chump change. _

_The police officer walks over. _

_It happens so fast._

_He reaches for the gun._

_Sandy looks up from shuffling his papers._

_John's eyes are the eyes of a madman. Wild and burning with the excitement of the kill. _

"_You failed me Sanford Cohen. No one fails me."_

_He expected it to hurt. _

_He expected to feel something. _

_But he didn't. _

_The gunshots went off. _

_Boom._

_Boom._

_One missed his heart by inches, but still managed to hit something important. _

_The other buried itself in his ribs and now it hurt, it hurt to breathe. _

_His heart thudded loudly. _

_Thump._

_Thump_

_Kirsten._

_Thump Thump._

_Seth._

_Thumpthump._

_Ryan._

_Thump._

_His hand automatically reaches for his shoulder and when he pulls it away it's covered in the RED thick liquid. _

_His blood. _

_Screams._

_Shouts._

_Suddenly his knees go out from underneath him. _

_He tries to grab onto the table to stop his fall but his frail hands graze the wood as he slides. _

_He hits the floor hard with a groan. Somehow manages to lie on his back. _

_Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump. _

_Gasp._

_Now it hurts. Pain racks through his body. An enormous amount of pain, pain the human body should never experience._

"_God, it hurts," he whimpers to no one. _

_He can feel his blood running from his shoulder to his neck before dripping to the floor and pooling around him. _

_Bright lights from the courtroom stare at him. Suddenly there is a shadow. _

"_Jesus, Sandy. Christ." Dave Harding jumped from where he was sitting and rushed to his side._

_His hands are frantic as he puts pressure on the wounds. _

_He weakly tries to shrug Dave's hand away, "S..s..stop, hurts." _

"_I got to put pressure on it buddy, Gotta have the pressure, so we can stop the bleeding." _

_Again he protests weakly, groaning. _

"_Stop. Hurts. Kirsten, please?" _

_Dave nodded. "Sure, Sandy, we'll get her here, okay? Just relax." _

_Relax. _

_Thump, thump, thump. _

_Blood. _

_So much blood. _

_He was covered in it. _

_His heart thumped wildly against his chest, missing beats here and there. With each thump of his heart, he felt the blood pump out of his body just as hard. _

_He couldn't breathe._

_His vision blurred._

_All he wanted was some air. _

Gasp.

Air.

His hand reaches up to rest on his heated shoulder.

It was on fire. The skin was sore and tight, it hurt to move, or even attempt to move.

So were his ribs. It hurt to breathe in, it ached to breathe out.

But he would deal with it. He was alive, he was home and that was just a nightmare.

"Sandy?" Confusion, apprehension and love can be heard as she calls his name softly.

Her voice was like an angel calling to him; suddenly her cool hands were against his fiery flesh.

Calming him, bringing him back into the real world, instead of his disoriented thoughts.

He didn't even realize he was sitting up until her felt her from behind him.

He shivers as his damp skin hit the cool air.

She whispered softly, her voice soothing and relaxing as she managed to ease him to lie down.

He's trembling so hard that his teeth rattle and he runs a shaky hand through his damp hair.

In the moonlight his face is ghastly white, his eyes far away and wild, nervous, neurotic, flashing with memory and hatred.

And sorrow.

He hates that he's dragging her down with him now, dragging her into his demons that have haunted him since that terrifying Friday. He didn't want her to know they existed, that the nightmares have plagued him ever since that fateful day.

"Talk to me, Sandy…" her voice is comforting, so soft and concerned.

He shakes his head, she can't know. She shouldn't know.

She doesn't need to know what it's like to feel your warm blood rush from your body to puddle around you and absorb to your clothes on a cold tile floor, leaving him helpless on the ground with one thought on his mind. She doesn't need to know the look that John Riggotti had in his eyes as he pulled the trigger.

Thins like that she just doesn't need to know – not yet.

Maybe later.

Her hand runs lightly over his chest before tentatively reaching up and lying across the wound that is burning, making his skin feverish.

"Sandy…" she asks again, worry in her dark blue eyes as they search his face for a sign. She thinks that he should still be in a hospital, still in the care of nurses and doctors because the heat of the wound worries her.

He sighs softly as she runs her own hand through his dark hair, and he feels her tender kiss pressed gently against the side of his temple.

He shivers again uncontrollably.

He's freezing, his body is like ice.

He can't stop his teeth from chattering.

A soft kiss is pressed against his jaw, his temple softly.

He shakes even harder, helplessly, quivering with uncertainty.

He won't look her in the eyes; he refuses to let her see the anger and pain in them. He refuses to let her see the naked fear that undoubtedly is resting there.

She brushes the hair away before leaning up and kissing him tenderly.

"It's okay now, it was just a dream."

Except it wasn't. It was real, it happened and now it haunts like a drug that he is addicted to and yet can't stop taking.

He doesn't want this drug. He wants to be in rehab.

He nods and swallows, his adam's apple bobbing in the darkness.

Her lips find his again and he kisses her back softly at first, but she invades his senses and suddenly his heart isn't pounding because of sheer terror.

It's pounding because he missed her and now he can't get enough of her. "I missed you."

He gets a lazy grin, a sweet, tender look as she is overcome with emotions from those three tender words. "I missed _you._"

He moves from her lips to her jaw line, tracing it with tantalizing kisses before moving down to the soft spot by her ear and finally down her neck, hitting a spot that makes her shiver.

She shifts and allows him better access as she runs her hands through his downy hair. The thudding of his heart quiets against his chest and he feels drowsy and safe for the first time since he took the case.

She leans up and kisses his forehead, knowing full well he is exhausted, just like she is.

When she looks back down into his soulful eyes she smiles softly, a real smile, the first since Friday.

"You need sleep, Sandy."

He doesn't have to say the words, "So do you," because it shows on his face. His shaky hand reaches up and tucks a stray blond tendril behind her ear, and she closes her eyes against his touch.

He nods and mumbles the words that sound like okay but actually come out like, "Mmph."

Sleep sounds wonderful.

She pulls back and lets him get comfortable, watching as he shifts to lie on his left side, his back towards her, because it's the only way that doesn't send fire shooting through his fatigued body.

She understands and pulls the blanket up before snuggling down against him, her body molding to his like nothing ever happened.

He guides her arm around him, his hand entwining with hers as his eyes close and she can feel him sigh softly before drifting away to sleep.

She lies awake, listening to his uneven breathing; the feelings rushing through her body are unexplainable.

Never in her life has she had the immense amount of relief over the fact that he is sleeping in her arms, in their bed. Never in her life has she loved someone more then she does right now. And never in her life does she feel the hatred for David Harding and John Riggotti.

He shivers in his sleep and she presses a soft kiss to his shoulder, soothing him. Almost instantly he settles again, squeezing her hand tightly in his sleep as if unconsciously reassuring himself that she is still there.

"Goodnight sweetheart, I love you."

She watches as he smiles softly before nuzzling his shoulder and falling asleep herself, content and happy since Friday.

XxXxX

The doorbell rings and David Harding is standing there, shifting almost nervously under her glare.

"Mrs. Cohen," he nods softly.

She frowns as she lets him in and leads him into the living room where Sandy is resting with his eyes closed, a hand resting on the heated wound of his shoulder.

"Hey there Sandy," he talks softly to her husband.

He gives a shallow wave and David looks at him concerned. "You okay?"

He nods, "Hurts still."

"Well, it probably will for a while."

Sandy acknowledges him again with a nod.

"I just wanted to stop by, see how you're both doing, and apologize for what I did."

He watches as Kirsten sits beside him, brushes the hair away from his feverish forehead.

"YOU should be sorry," she rounds on him. "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING? PULLING THAT STUNT ON US? DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT WAS LIKE? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA THE HELL YOU PUT US THROUGH?"

Her voice is loud and angry, heated like the slow fever that was burning inside of Sandy's body.

"I'm sorry Kirsten, I had to, and it was the only way to keep all of you safe."

"You could have told us! We could have acted. God do you have any idea what YOU put us through?"

He hung his head.

He knew.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm tired of apologies!"

No wonder Sandy never crossed this woman.

"Is there anything I can do to make amends?"

She paused, fire in her blue eyes, her cheeks flushed, body poised ready for a fight. Her body stance was ready, Sandy could see it on her face that she would say a lot of things that she would regret later, if he pressed her anymore.

"Yes. You can make sure no one ever harms our family, because if they do, your ass will be on the line. And you can get the hell out of my house."

Sandy, despite his pain, couldn't help but smile at his wife's viciousness. Dave cast him a curious look.

"Dave, come back later, in like a month, it'll be okay then. Thank you for everything," his voice was weak and he just wanted to rest.

'_Just go Dave; I'm tired of seeing your face. Go.' _

Kirsten's harsh gaze followed him out.

'_Don't let the door hit you on your ass on the way out!'_

She turns back to him, taking note in his pale features. "Sandy, you need to rest…"

He smiles faintly at her. "Well, that went better then expected."

She grins at him, chuckling softly.

"Let's get you into bed."

XxXxX

He walks wearily up to their bedroom and she can feel the feverish heat coming off his slowly healing body.

He eases into bed and she turns to go before he grabs on to her wrist.

"Stay, please stay," he murmurs softly, easing onto his side. His voice soft, like a child's as he begs, his eyes pleading.

"Of course," she whispers as she eases down beside him, his shaky hand entwining with hers like his life depended on it.

She watches as he nuzzles the pillow, sighing, his body relaxing in her presence.

"I spent so much time away from you, just stay," his light fever is making him ramble and she can tell he's fighting sleep.

"Close your eyes Sandy, I'm right here. I won't leave."

"Good."

She leans down and kisses his warm forehead, while his hand tightens its grip on hers.

He's asleep before his head even hits the pillow, his body exhausted and shaking. He claims that he's finally healing – being home with her and the boys.

He claims that he wouldn't sleep in the hospital, which he wouldn't cooperate until he was home because he couldn't stand the thought of the pain that she and the boys were going through.

She gave him Tylenol before she left the room to face everyone else.

XxXxX

The Nana's reaction was expected; she blamed it on Kirsten and it being her fault. She and Sandy spent time together, talking, realizing, talking some more, before she had to leave for New York again.

Her father's was glib, smoother then usual.

He acted almost as if he had known all along. She knew that he would do anything to protect her.

It wouldn't surprise her if he had.

Hailey's was surprised, and Jimmy's was even more shocked. For the most part they all sat down around him, everyone talking, asking questions, while taking in this new shocking information.

But they all were happy.

As she sat on the couch, her boys on either side of her, she couldn't help but smile.

Her family was slowly recovering.

And so was she.

XxXxX

His fever was making her anxious. It wasn't high by any means but it was still affecting him.

He woke up in the middle of the night, a scream caught in the back of his throat.

_Blood, so much blood._

But then she was there, soft kisses against his cheek, his temple, anywhere that she could place him to calm him down.

He needed to see someone, a therapist.

His nightmares were frightening and they weren't getting better on their own.

She didn't know when the last time he had slept throughout the night soundly, other then last Thursday.

He settled against her, nuzzling her shoulder contently.

She could feel the erratic pace of his heart against her back.

He wasn't the same Sandy that had left them a week ago.

XxXxX

_Six Months Later, Thursday._

"Mom? Did you get the movie? Did you bring dinner?"

"Yes Seth I did, and yes Seth I got the movie!"

Ryan walked through the door, a grin on his face. He enjoyed this family time.

Sandy appeared from the living room, a smile upon his handsome features. Therapy had helped him, and actually it had helped all of them heal. He still had the occasional nightmare, but they were nothing like they had been. The therapist had told him that it would take time to heal all of the wounds that he had.

He walked up to Kirsten giving her a kiss upon her temple, which she leaned against him.

Seth rolled his eyes, while Ryan went immediately for the takeout containers.

Losing Sandy had changed them all in certain ways.

Seth had grown up, Ryan had become a little more carefree, she, herself had slowed down upon her career to spend more time with all of them.

It was Thursday and they had designated it family night.

Thursday because it wasn't Friday and didn't hold the dread upon their thoughts when they thought of the horrible day, so long ago that had taken them to hell and back.

Thursday because it wasn't the weekend, Thursday because before RED Friday it was the last day they had all spent together before being torn apart and put back together like Humpty Dumpty.

As Seth put the DVD in the system they all settled around each other, close, enjoying the new life they had all opted for.

One where Sandy was alive, happy, healthy, the one were they were all a family.

Thursday.

6:18 p.m.

XxXxX


End file.
